


Honeymoon

by old_blue



Series: Tabloid Journalism [1]
Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Alien Sex, Developing Relationship, First Time, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mystery, Other, References to Depression, References to Drugs, Road Trip, Weird Biology, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-01-12 05:37:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18440129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/old_blue/pseuds/old_blue
Summary: Eddie and Venom take a trip to a small town in search of a story. They find a lot of clues, but Eddie's still clueless. Maybe there's something in the water...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for this. Apparently, I'm thirsty for creepy towns and shitty hotel rooms.
> 
> I'm going to use the same conventions everyone uses. _Italics_ are for thoughts. Venom's thoughts and dialogue are in **bold**.

**_“_ Eddie.” **

“Hmm?” Eddie frowns and taps on his desk, stares at nothing out the window—the old brick across the alley, a crack running zig-zag along the facade, thinking, _the city should inspect that before the whole thing falls down..._

_Oh, yeah, right._

He sits up straighter, then types, ' _The city council, when faced with a potential conflict over the interests of big business and their constituents, has never supported the rights of the lower classes over—'_

**“Eddieeee…”**

“Hold on, V. I'm almost done. Just let me…” He deletes that last part. _Lower classes_ isn't right—not the tone he's going for. Eddie sits forward and chews on his lip. He's so close to the right phrase. _Disadvantaged? Less privileged? The working poor? Disenfranch—_

**“Eddie!”**

_Fuck_. And now it's gone—he's lost the thought completely. Eddie sighs and turns around. “What is it, V?”

**“This place. I want to go there.”**

As usual, Venom is watching TV while he works, black tendrils sprouting from his back and draped over the couch and coffee table.

“What place?” Eddie pushes away from his desk and slumps down onto the couch. The tendrils wrap around him in an embrace.

 **“This** **place** **,”** Venom says unhelpfully.

Eddie sighs. There's no way he's getting any more work done right now, anyway. He grabs the remote, turns the volume up. It's some early afternoon news broadcast, a local interest story. There's a slick-looking reporter—Eddie doesn't know her name, has never seen her before—interviewing some old guy somewhere rural. The story is about bottled water as far as he can tell. He has to watch for another twenty seconds or so before they mention the name of the place: Mineral Springs. Eddie’s heard of it—one of those fading tourist traps just inland from the coast on the long, sleepy stretch between San Francisco and L.A.

“You want to go there? Mineral Springs? Why?”

**“I want to see the water.”**

“You want to _see_ water? That doesn't make any sense, V.” Eddie scratches at his neck. He'd promised himself he'd get this piece done by five. That was the goal, anyway. Probably won't happen now. Venom’s going to want to eat soon—he can already feel the familiar, gnawing hunger clawing at his insides—and, lately, his symbiote’s been craving real weird shit. Stuff that's hard to get even in the city. That's going to take some time. It was almost easier when they just wanted brains.

Venom turns their head to look at Eddie. **“I want to feel the water. Taste it.”**

“Hmmm.” That's also weird.

**“Please, Eddie.”**

“Maybe, bud. I've got a lot to do right now. Can we talk about it later? Tomorrow?”

Venom grumbles and retreats completely back into his body, sulking. _**Fine. Hungry.**_

“Yeah, I know.” But Eddie's intrigued now— _what could be so special about this water?_ —so he grabs his phone and googles _Mineral Springs._

_**I want mussels.** _

_Fuck_. Eddie groans. “Does this mean I have to get wet again?”

**_Yes._ **

They've already had mussels three times this week. Before that, it was oysters Venom wanted. But oysters are fucking expensive and mussels grow everywhere in the bay, so Eddie figures the mussels are an improvement.

“Fine. But I'm not eating shells this time. That shit fucking hurts.”

_**Whatever you say, Eddie. I will eat the shells for us.** _

He can actually feel Venom grinning.

 

***

 

The next morning, Eddie pulls his laptop out at breakfast and starts researching the town of Mineral Springs in earnest. He's starting to think there might actually be a story there. And not just a puff piece about their bottled water.

“Hey, V, check this out.” He shoves another bite of scrambled egg into his mouth while staring at the screen. “This place has a missing persons rate that's almost three times the national average. That's weird, huh? For such a small town?”

Venom doesn't answer, but Eddie can feel it listening. His symbiote’s been unusually quiet since they'd gotten home last night. Maybe anyone would be tired after gnawing approximately ten pounds of mussels off a piling in freezing water. Eddie had dropped right into bed and passed out in what he's starting to think of as a mussel coma. That's been happening a lot lately, too.

And now, Venom’s actually letting him catch his breath between bites of egg. “You okay there, bud? You're feeling pretty mellow this morning.”

Venom makes a sound that can only be described as a purr. _**Yes, Eddie. Feel good.**_

And that's why he's not exactly worried—Venom seems happy. He can feel that. They haven't been together long; they're still getting used to each other, their weird new relationship. Maybe this is just a natural thing—part of symbiosis. He's decided to let it go for now.

“This guy, David Gorman, disappeared about six months ago. His daughter made a lot of noise about it, enough that the Feds came in. They didn't find anything.” He chews thoughtfully, reading. There's a photo of the local chief of police—a woman named Alana Ortiz—accompanying the article. “Official word is the guy ain't missing. There's no crime.”

None of the other investigations went anywhere, either, which is interesting. Maybe there's something going on. Or maybe not. Either way, the town has a pretty crazy history aside from mysterious disappearances. In the early ‘70’s, it was the site of a bizarre turf war after a religious cult set up camp a few miles away. Apparently, the townspeople ran them off. And more than a few of the cult's leaders vanished.

Venom grows a small head from Eddie’s shoulder, presumably so it can peer at the screen, too. Eddie keeps scrolling through the official Mineral Springs website.

“Hey, V? Did you know the water there is supposed to have healing properties? Comes from a spring under the town. You can soak in it or drink it. Supposed to cure cancer or something.” That sounds like some very convenient bullshit. Or clever marketing. “And, look—they have an artichoke festival in the fall.”

**“That's why I want to go there.”**

“For the artichokes?”

Venom chuckles. **“No. For the water.”**

“Maybe, bud. Maybe.” He’ll need to make arrangements if they're going to do this. Finish that article and send it in, let Annie know where he’ll be in case something happens. He's not worried about much since he and Venom got together, but Annie still gets pissed if he doesn't check in.

**“We can take the bike. It’ll be fun, Eddie.”**

 

***

 

The ride down to Mineral Springs is wet and miserable.

The coast along Highway 1 is beautiful in a dramatic and unwelcoming sort of way. Eddie’s always been enthralled by the Pacific Ocean in winter—how easily it slips from the blue-green placidity of summer into a maelstrom of pounding surf and fog and driving wind. They stop a few times along the road to stand at the edges of cliffs and watch the waves, feel the spray hit them.

They cut inland at Big Sur, and the wild coastline gives way to gloomy forests and hills that are lush and green with the winter rains. It's late afternoon when they drop down into the low valley surrounding Mineral Springs. The fields here are all planted with spiky, gray artichokes in neat rows. The rain has let up a bit, but the tops of the hills are still shrouded in fog.

They drive slowly through Mineral Springs. Like so many small towns along the coast, it’s a collection of cheery Victorians and brick buildings along the highway—mostly tourist places, selling knick-knacks and souvenirs—surrounded by houses and farms spreading up into the hills.

The only place to stay in town in the off-season is at the springs, themselves—the Mineral Springs Lodge. The hotel is just off the highway—one of those depression-era buildings that are so common out here in the west. All stone and logs, with the guest rooms flanking a central building. It actually does look like a lodge. The stone pools fed by the spring are all covered with tarps for the winter and surrounded by a tall metal fence.

Eddie parks the bike next to the only other vehicle in the large parking lot, a battered green Subaru with a ‘Dog is My Copilot’ sticker.

It starts to pour again as soon as they get inside the lobby. There's a fire roaring in the huge stone fireplace at one end of the room. A clock ticking somewhere. Otherwise, the only other sound is the rain sheeting off the roof. No people around. Eddie steps up to the front desk. 

_**Hungreeee!** _

Venom’s been whining almost continuously about food since he'd hopped on the bike this morning. “Yeah, just let me check in here and stash our stuff, maybe change clothes, and we’ll eat, okay? Promise.” Eddie rings the bell on the front desk and waits. He can hear a chair screech from somewhere behind a door, then slow footsteps approaching.

There's a sound like a sigh from Venom.

“You're the one who wanted to come down here, so quit it,” he mumbles.

The woman who emerges is older, but Eddie has no idea what age she might be—her face is unlined, skin unnaturally smooth. Her long, gray hair is piled up into a messy bun on top of her head. She’s wearing about twenty beaded necklaces and some kind of homespun shift. _Hippy type_ , Eddie thinks. Familiar enough around here.

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Can I help you, hon?”

“Yeah, yes. I have a reservation.”

She smiles, showing off perfect, white teeth. “Well, then, you must be Mr. Brock. Seeing as we don't have anyone else staying with us right now.” She shuffles through some papers behind the desk, flips a few over the counter for Eddie to sign.

“What brings you to our cozy little town, Mr. Brock?”

It sounds like a casual question, but Eddie knows it’s not. He'd bet this lady is the town's major source of gossip. So there's no way he's going to tell her he's got a meeting with David Gorman's daughter tomorrow morning—the one who brought the original complaint to the Feds. In fact, Irene Gorman seemed quite eager to talk to him.

He says, “Just sightseeing. Taking a trip down the coast.” It's not exactly a lie...

The woman’s smile abruptly fades. “Oh,” she says.

 _Weird_. “Is that…? Is there something wrong with taking a trip?”

“No, of course not, hon.” But she's still frowning as she hands him an actual room key on a chain. “There you go. Room 23, one of our honeymoon suites. Back out through those front doors and to the right. Can't miss it.”

Eddie glances out at the rain, then back at her. “Uh, thanks,” he says.

 

***

 

Their room, despite being a supposed honeymoon suite, actually kind of sucks.

Eddie hangs his wet jacket up in the bathroom, brushes water out of his hair. His backpack is wet, but the stuff he'd stashed in his panniers is still dry.

The room is shabby and looks like it hasn't been updated since the mid-eighties. Wood paneling, an ugly, semi-orange carpet, one king bed that has an oversized, log cabin style headboard made of knotty pine. He's going to whack his head on it, he can tell. It smells bad, too—like old dust and mold. And there's a constant dripping sound coming from the bathroom.

It’s not his jacket. Eddie sticks his head in the cupboard under the sink. There are old water stains under the rusted pipes, but no water leaks currently. The huge tub has two different spigots—one with instructions for filling it with heated water from the spring—and a ring of mineral deposits, but it’s dry, too. It's not the worst place he's ever stayed—far from it—but he's a little disappointed that their first semi-vacation together has them staying in this shithole.

Venom doesn't seem to mind at all. Eddie knows that dripping will probably torment him all night. He never used to be so sensitive to sounds. “Is that coming from behind the wall, ya think?”

_**Don't know. Drink some water and you’ll feel better.** _

Eddie snorts. “You and this water… Want to tell me what's so special about it?” But he goes to the sink and unwraps one of the plastic cups, sticks it under the special spigot at the tub. The first sip makes him choke. _Fuck_ , it tastes like old metal.

_**Selenium.** _

Eddie manages to stop gagging long enough to ask, “What? Are you sure this is safe to drink?”

_**Yes. Selenium, manganese, and zinc. They're minerals, Eddie. This water has a high concentration of them, much like the composition of the water on my homeworld.** _

There’s a brief flash of something like a fond memory from Venom: _sinking into a warm swamp, becoming one with the rich mud, soaking in the taste of chemistry, molecules. Pleasure, contentment_ … It's gone before he can figure out what it means.

Eddie finishes off the water, grimaces. “Well, it tastes like shit, buddy. That's just my opinion, though. What do I know about space water?”

Venom is quiet, but Eddie can feel the same kind of languid happiness coming from his symbiote that always follows a good meal. He's a little surprised to find that he _does_ feel better after drinking it, despite the taste. Even the dripping sound isn't as annoying as it was before. “Do you need those things? The minerals?” They can probably afford to buy supplements. Assuming he gets the next few articles out on time.

There's an uncharacteristically long pause from Venom, followed by faint echoes of the same swamp memory. _**Sometimes.**_

Eddie’s intrigued. He shakes his head, smiling. “V, that is such a bullshit answer.”

_**You sometimes need vitamin C, Eddie, but I don't give you shit about it.** _

Venom’s always grumpy when they're hungry. “Okay, okay. I'm just messing with you. Sorry.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “Let’s go get something to eat, huh? I saw a coffee shop just down the main drag, sign said they serve breakfast all day.”

That does the trick. _**Yes, let’s go now!**_

 

***

 

The coffee shop is one of those fifties-style places, serving familiar comfort food. And full of locals, too, of course—these places are always the town’s social center. Everyone stops what they're doing and stares when Eddie steps in out of the rain. He tries not to feel too self-conscious about it—he's a stranger here after all. It's expected.

Once they're seated in a booth with a plate piled full of eggs, bacon, and pancakes in front of them, Eddie feels better. He hunches over their plate and tries to be as discreet as possible about shoveling as much food into his mouth as quickly as he can.

_**Eddie.** _

He swallows down seventy-five percent of a stack of pancakes in a single bite. Somehow it fits.

_**Eddie!** _

He has to take a sip of coffee before he can talk. “What?”

It's only after he's said this out loud that he realizes someone is standing next to their booth. Not their server. The chief of police, Alana Ortiz—he recognizes her from the photo in the article.

 _Shit, that was fast_ , he thinks.

Ortiz is shorter than he thought she’d be, and has a round face that isn’t disguised by the severe ponytail she’s pulled her hair back in. She's not in uniform—just a cardigan over a pressed shirt and slacks—but there's a gun on one hip and a badge on the other. She's cute and obviously trying to cover it up, Eddie thinks. She looks younger than he'd expected, too.

Her dark eyes narrow suddenly as if he'd said that out loud.

Eddie looks away. He'd never actually say anything like that, though, feels almost guilty for just thinking it. He knows she has to be tougher than she looks to get where she's gotten in a small town like this. How hard that fight must’ve been. She'd probably rip his balls off if he ever crossed her.

He’s not exactly surprised that local law enforcement is interested in him. He has no legit reason to be here right now—it’s not exactly peak tourist season. As a reporter, he's used to getting hassled. And he does look a bit like a vagrant. Rough around the edges, maybe.

He can feel Venom’s amusement. _**Plus, you talk to yourself all the time now.**_

“Shut up,” he mutters into his coffee mug. He's getting better at communicating with Venom in his head, but they still have a long way to go. His thoughts are so scattered—just naturally moving faster than he can manage them and in random directions—he's always had trouble focusing. Sometimes it's just easier to say what he needs to say out loud.

When he looks back up, the chief is still staring at him, but her expression has turned a little less judgemental.

_**Can we eat her?** _

_No_ , he thinks. Chief Ortiz scowls almost as if she heard that, too. Which is… _weird_. It's also weird having someone just standing over him, staring and not saying anything.

Eddie clears his throat. “Um, can I help you?”

“Edward Brock. I'd like you to come with me, please.”

“Oh, uh…” _Oh shit_. “Is there a problem? Am I under arrest or something?” He's not _that_ famous. This is bad, but also… encouraging? If they're this nuts about a reporter simply wandering into town then there's a good chance something's up.

Venom grumbles somewhere inside him.

Ortiz’s mouth thins, like he's offended her. “No, you're not under arrest. I'd just like to talk to you. And I'd prefer to talk somewhere more private.” She glances around the restaurant.

Eddie does, too. And, for the first time, he notices that everyone in here seems to be staring at them again. No one’s talking either. It's fucking weird.

He turns back to the chief. “Uh, sure. Where are we going?”

_**And can we take this food?** _

 

***

 

The police station is just two doors down from the coffee shop. And it's tiny.

They stop in front of a uniformed officer snoozing at the front desk—the only person in here, apparently. Ortiz kicks his leg and the guy shoots up in his chair, blinking at the two of them.

“Jack. I'm going to have a chat with Mr. Brock here. Stay on the radio, okay?”

“Yeah, Chief. Sure.”

Ortiz sighs and gestures at Eddie to follow her.

Her office is right beside a metal door that presumably leads to the holding cells in the back. Eddie swallows and tries to resist the urge to fidget as Ortiz holds the door open for him.

“Come on in.” She waits for him to step inside and shuts the door behind them.

Eddie sits in the chair she points at and distracts himself by looking around, trying to take in as many details as he can, memorize them for later. Her office is neat and tidy—a little like the woman, herself. A shelf with a some books, filing cabinets. Some awards on the walls. A computer and a few pictures on her desk, facing away from him—meant for her to look at, then, while she works. There's a mounted deer head on the wall behind her desk, dust-covered and a little moth-eaten, small antlers. It doesn't fit with the rest of the decor.

_**Eddie, why is there a head on the wall?** _

_Uh..._ he thinks, trying to decide how he can explain something like that without talking.

Ortiz sits down behind her desk, shrugs. “Came with the office. The last chief was a hunter. It's traditional now.”

It takes Eddie a moment to realize she's talking about the trophy, almost answering Venom’s question. She must have noticed him staring at it. "Oh, uh... huh." He nods.

_**But why, Eddie?** _

_Not now, V. Later._

Ortiz opens a drawer and pulls out a folder with some papers inside, sets it on the desk in front of her. Eddie eyes it warily. She folds her hands neatly on top of it. “So… Mr. Brock. What brings you to Mineral Springs?”

“It's Eddie,” he says automatically. “Also... you didn't introduce yourself. Back there in the coffee shop.” He's not trying to be unfriendly, exactly, but cops have always made him jittery. And he doesn't like being pulled away from his dinner and dragged to the police station when he hasn't done a damn thing. Venom agrees.

Ortiz shrugs. “You already knew who I was.” She seems absolutely sure of this, which is strange.

“How do you know that?”

She freezes for just a moment, but it's enough for Eddie to recognize the question has actually worried her for some reason. She recovers and says, “I just assumed… since you're a reporter, that you'd done some research.”

He has done research, but he's really not going to tell her about it.

Ortiz is doing her bizarre staring thing again. Eddie decides to stare back. If she wants to talk, then she can talk. The silence stretches out until it starts to get uncomfortable. He can feel Venom growing restless inside him, shifting around. Eddie starts  bouncing his leg, just to relieve some of the tension.

Ortiz breaks first. “Why are you here, Mr. Brock?”

He shrugs. “Just taking a trip down the coast. Is that illegal or something?”

She smiles, but it's not pleasant. “You have an appointment to see Irene Gorman tomorrow morning. Why?”

 _What the fuck?_ “Did Irene tell you that?” Why the fuck would she talk to the police about this? She'd even hinted that they were somehow involved in her dad's disappearance.

“No.”

“Then how do you know?” He realizes he should just play dumb and deny everything, but he's starting to get pissed off. _How the fuck did she find out?_

“That's not important right now. Tell me why you're here.”

There's no way he's going to tell her he's looking into David Gorman’s disappearance. The daughter runs a cat rescue, he remembers, he can say he’s working on a story about animal adoption rates in rural—

“Cut the bullshit. I know you're not interested in the damn cats. You're here about David Gorman."

Eddie can't help blurting, “How in the _fuck…?_ ” What the hell is going on here? It's like every time he has a thought, she's right there, listening in. Almost exactly the way Venom does...

Eddie freezes. _Oh, wait_... Suddenly, he has an idea about what might be going on here. And a way to test it out.

_V, I'm gonna do something stupid._

Venom grumbles in irritation as the chief narrows her eyes.

Eddie folds his hands on the desk and thinks, forming the words just as carefully in his head, the same way he’s been practicing talking to Venom.

_I've got a gun in my pocket._

The look of alarm on the chief’s face is almost comical. She presses back from the desk and her hand jerks toward the gun on her hip, like she's never expected to need it before, and especially not right now, in her own office. “Mr. Brock, don't—”

 _ **We don't have a gun,**_ Venom offers, helpfully.

Now the chief looks confused.

Eddie grins and stabs a finger at her. “Ha! Got you.” He's not actually that worried about getting shot these days. “I _don't_ actually have a gun, but you heard that, didn't you? You're reading my mind or something.”

She looks over at the door like someone might come in and catch them in this awkward conversation. “I'm… not.”

_**She is.** _

“You are,” Eddie agrees, still grinning. “I'm pretty sure you are. Just admit it.”

She hesitates for another few seconds and then actually surprises him. “Yes. Okay, I can hear your thoughts.”

That was almost too easy. “What? Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Eddie considers this. “How can you—”

“It's not important, Mr. Brock. What's important is that, based on what I can hear when you’re… _thinking_ , I believe you might be a danger to yourself. Or others.”

“Oh, uh…” That makes sense, he supposes. They _did_ sort of discuss eating her, back at the coffee shop. But he's pretty sure thought crime isn't a thing yet. “Am I in trouble here? Should I call my lawyer?” Annie would probably really enjoy this after pretending to be pissed at him—she's always had a thing for flexing her power to protect the little guy.

_**We aren't little, Eddie.** _

“Yeah, I know, V. Isn't this an invasion of privacy? You, as a representative of the police department, reading my mind? Don't you need a search warrant for something like that?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Eddie nods, but this whole thing still doesn't seem kosher. “Am I under arrest?” He’d actually really, really like to avoid being arrested. He's just barely scraping by, as it is. Taking another financial hit so soon would probably push him back down below the poverty line.

She looks affronted that he'd ask. “ _No_. No, you're not under arrest. Look… I don't… I _wouldn't_ abuse my power like that. I take the responsibilities of this office very seriously. We’re just talking.”

Venom chooses that moment to say, _**I'm still hungry, Eddie. Let’s go back to the restaurant.**_

“V, _jeez_... Just hold on.”

Ortiz is now regarding him with what Eddie assumes is pity. “Do you have a history of mental illness, Mr. Brock?”

He nods at the folder laying between them on the desk. “I assume you've got a file on me in front of you. What does it say?” He already knows what it says. He's been arrested a few times before, mostly for disorderly conduct, has one drug-related conviction. He was committed involuntarily once, in his early twenties, during a bad bout of depression. Though, he's pretty sure some shady government agency took care of any info related to the Life Foundation fiasco. He's only ever really been a danger to himself. And the assholes they eat, occasionally.

“I was hoping you'd tell me.”

Eddie stares at her for a while, trying to figure out what her angle is. Could be she's genuinely worried he might be some psycho. Or this could all be part of an attempt to intimidate him. He honestly can't decide.

She smiles suddenly. “Why not both?”

“Uh…” Eddie starts.

Her face reddens. “That was supposed to be a joke. Sorry.”

“I get it.” Though he's not sure it was _entirely_ a joke. “It's just weird having someone read my mind.” Actually, it's weird having someone _other_ than Venom read his mind.

Eddie sits back in his chair. Ortiz doesn't seem like a _bad_ person. He's not in jail, or lying in a ditch somewhere. Not yet, anyway. She could be a good resource, actually. “I'll make a deal with you. Quid pro quo,” he says. “You answer one of my questions and I'll answer one of yours.”

She looks surprised, then suspicious. “What? You mean like in _Silence of the Lambs_?”

_**I'm starting to like her, Eddie. Maybe we shouldn’t eat this one.** _

Eddie tries not to smile too much. “Yeah. Exactly. And I, uh, think she heard that, V.” Maybe that wasn't the best movie to bring up...

“Yes, I heard that,” she says, but one corner of her mouth has turned up in an answering smile. “Deal. But I get to go first, since you asked me if I was reading your mind and I answered truthfully.”

Now it's Eddie’s turn to be surprised. “Sure, yeah.”

“Are you a danger to the people in this town?”

He doesn't even have to think about it. “No.” That's the truth—he and Venom won't hurt anyone here. Not If they don't have to.

She squints at him. After another few seconds she nods. “Okay. Your turn.”

 _What to ask first?_ Eddie sits back and considers the question, makes a decision before he can second guess himself. “Anyone else here psychic? With the way everyone was staring at us back there, I'm starting to think they can read minds, too.”

“Yes,” she says, “but only some of us.”

Huh. Is _this_ the story? A town full of telepaths? How would he ever prove something like that, though? And who would publish it?

Ortiz waits for him to finish thinking, before saying, “My turn. That voice in your head… What is it?”

She would never believe the truth anyway, so what does it matter? “I have an alien living inside my body. It talks to me all the time.”

“Okay,” she says slowly. If she had any doubts that he was crazy before, she doesn't anymore. “How long has this been going on?”

“A… two months,” he lies. It's actually been more like six, but he doesn't really want her to connect what he's saying to the Life Foundation incident.

“I see. Do you have someone you can talk to about this? You know… a doctor or something? A therapist? Someone who can help you.”

Eddie smiles at her. “You think I’m crazy.” He doesn't really mind—he's gotten used to people treating him like he's nuts. It's a good cover, anyway. And if he ever needs proof, well… he's got Venom.

She shakes her head. “No, I didn't say that. I think you’re sick, Mr. Brock.”

“It's Eddie. And that's, like, three questions. It's my turn now.”

She blows out a frustrated breath and sits back. “Fine.”

Eddie leans forward. “Is David Gorman dead?”

He expects her to get angry or refuse to answer, but Ortiz just smiles. “No.”

Eddie stares at her. He's usually pretty good at reading people, but he honestly can't tell if she's lying right now.

“Where is he?”

“That's another question, Mr. Brock.”

“It's Eddie.”

“Look…” Her hand tightens on the papers in front of her and she lets out a long breath. “ _Mr. Brock…”_ She gives him a pointed look. “I think you need help. But this is not where you're going to find it. And this story of yours…? David Gorman? There's nothing here for you. No mystery, no conspiracy. No missing people. I would like you to get out of my town and go back to the city. Tonight.”

Their game is over, obviously. “And if I refuse to leave… What then?”

He can see Ortiz is tough—she has to be—but he can also see that she's gotten used to people doing what she says without a fight.

She glares at him for a long time before saying, “Then things might get complicated. For both of us.”

 

***

 

“You don't think that's weird? This whole telepathy thing?”

They're back in their shitty room. It's still fucking raining. Eddie paces back and forth in front of the window, peeks out the blinds. His bike and the old Subaru are still the only vehicles in the lot. He's pretty sure no one followed them back here, but he's still taking a risk, pissing off the local police.

_**Many species communicate like that. It's not unusual.** _

“In space, maybe. I'm talking about here on earth, though, V. It's weird for earth. One person… maybe I could see that. But the whole town? Nah.”

Venom says nothing so he keeps pacing.

“Do you think it's related to the disappearances? Maybe they knew something about it? Maybe they were threatening to go public?” He doesn't know enough yet to even guess what's going on here. “What could make a bunch of people telepathic?”

_**I don't know, Eddie. Drink some more water.** _

Eddie glares at nothing over his shoulder—the space where he imagines Venom is. “You know, I'm not so sure you'd cut it as a reporter. I think you lack the necessary curiosity, bud.” He stalks over to the door to make sure it's deadbolted, probably for the third time. Maybe he's paranoid, but it's not like this place isn't weird as fuck. “You want more water, you drink it.”

 **“Fine.”** Venom pushes out of him, stretches over to the tub in the bathroom, and turns the water on. “ **But maybe you should try not to be such a dick.”**

Eddie kicks off his shoes and shoves his pants down. He flops down on the mattress, flips over so he's facing away from the bathroom. “Whatever, V.”

The bed smells about as bad as the rest of the room. Like the sheets might have been washed once, but that was ten years ago. Eddie yanks the musty blankets as far up his body as he can with a damn tentacle coming out of his back. He can hear Venom in the tub, still splashing around. Can actually _feel_ the water going into his body somehow. He’ll probably have to get up to piss in about five minutes.

Eventually, the water shuts off and Venom comes back. The tendrils wrap around his body and give him a hesitant squeeze before sinking inside. They're only a little wet. Eddie shuts his eyes and sighs.

He hates conflict, always has, feels guilty for snapping at Venom. There's no way he can get to sleep with this hanging over them. He rolls over onto his back and stares up at the water stained ceiling. “Hey, V? You awake?”

_**Of course.** _

Venom doesn't sound upset, which is a relief. “Hey, bud… I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for—for being a dick, okay?”

 _ **I forgive you, Eddie.**_ Spreading warmth inside him that means Venom’s happy. _**For being a dick.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the wonderful comments! I'll try to get to them when I can. Sorry!
> 
> I also had to change-up the rating and add a few tags because this chapter got a bit spicier while I was editing.

_Eddie dreams that he's sinking down into mud. And it's actually not too bad, as far as dreams go._

_The mud is cool, but he's comfortable here. Floating. Soon, he's deep down in the mud, where the weak light from distant stars can’t reach him. And he's fine. He doesn't need lungs here—he's spread himself out, thin enough that gas can diffuse easily across his tissues. Carbon dioxide, nitrogen, hydrogen... The liquid around him is soft, welcoming. Isotonic. He feels alive._

_There’s the first tentative touch of the biomass of another. Someone reaching out to him through the mud. And then a wave of rapidly-degrading molecules. A request, unspoken, but understood. Eddie sends back his own molecules in return. They linger in the space between their membranes. Acceptance._

_He thinks it might be Annie. Or maybe it's the guy who bought him a drink in the Mission that one time… He can't see anything down here and it doesn't matter. He can feel everything. Taste everything._

_Close and closer, they wind pseudopods around each other. The two of them shiver in unison as their membranes fuse, and finally they're tangled together. Joined._

_And—  
_

Eddie opens his eyes and blinks up at the water stained ceiling.

He's awake, back in his own body. In the moldy bed in their crappy room. But he's breathing like he just ran a mile. _Fuck, is he…?_ Was that a dream?

He realizes suddenly that he’s hard as hell. He's fucking close to orgasm already. _That kind of dream_ … Eddie groans.

He reaches down to grab his dick, but his hand encounters something warm and slick down there, instead. “The mud…” he says stupidly. _No_. something alive. _Venom_. Eddie runs his hand over the smooth surface of the symbiote’s skin. It feels like silk brushing him back.

“What the hell…?” He drags the sheets off. There's an amorphous black mass writhing between his legs. Eddie can feel it pulsing and squeezing around him, warm and soft. And it's not just outside—it's inside, everywhere—he can feel it slipping around in his damn balls. In his ass.

 _God_ , all of Venom must be down there right now. And it feels… so fucking good. His whole body is lit up from the inside.

He can't… fucking think, _can't…_ Eddie drops his head back down, kicks his legs slowly against the sheets. “V, hey... _Venom_ ,” he groans. “What the fuck?”

Because they're actually fucking. _He's fucking his damn alien symbiote._ That thought is like lightning zapping his brain, obliterating everything else.

_**It's okay, Eddie.** _

Every thinking, rational part of him is just giving back static right now, useless. “ _Oh, fuck…_ ” is all he can manage between desperate breaths.

Venom would stop, if he asked—Eddie can feel that, the symbiote’s gentle link to his mind, ready for any hint that he doesn't want this. He's just so close that he can't stop, doesn't want to, really. It's been so long since he's been with someone, been fucked like this.

And then Venom does something inside his body—presses or rubs something, his prostate maybe, but it's more intense than anything he's ever felt before—and it sends the last of his willpower into a death spin, spiraling out of control. He rolls over onto his front and grabs at the sheets, pushes his hips down into the smooth mass beneath him, into Venom. And he comes hard, moaning into his musty-smelling pillow.

It's different, so different, this time. He's aware of everything happening in his body, in a new way, the way that Venom’s aware. _His heart beating so fast, a flood of sweet dopamine in his brain, and then smooth oxytocin. The clench and give of his muscles, the sudden release of blood from his dick back through the veins, the flow of different fluids containing reproductive cells._

It’s a good, long while before he catches his breath, before his nerves start giving back useful signals instead of the tingling aftermath of pleasure. Before he feels like himself again.

And he can feel Venom—languid, slow, content. A comforting weight in his chest, against his pounding heart.

Eddie flops over onto his back and whispers, “What the fuck?” Then, when his brain finally comes back online, “ _Holy shit, V._ Did you…? Did we just…?”

_**Yes.** _

Eddie flips the sheets off his lower half. There's no mess, no trace of anything down there, not even Venom, but they did. They definitely just did. Eddie groans and clutches at his head. “ _Shit_.”

 _ **Mmmm… Felt good, Eddie.**_ Venom sounds absolutely fucked-out, which Eddie didn't even think was possible.

 _Oh, God._ This is probably his fault, anyway. He _has_ masturbated a few times since he and Venom started sharing a body. But that's way down from his usual routine. He just felt judged in a weird way, with Venom watching him, probably _feeling_ him do it. The last couple of times he'd tried it hadn't been very satisfying. He'd basically given up on ever getting off in a meaningful way again.

_**I like it when you masturbate. Feels good. You should do it more often.** _

Eddie winces and scrubs his hands down his face. “Not now, okay, V?”

And then it hits him—what they just did, because there's no way in hell that was just a wet dream. _Oh God, he's a fucking pervert. He's a sick fuck._ Venom is an alien and probably doesn't even know what sex is, and he just… they just... He can't even fucking think about it without freaking out. “ _Oh fuck_ ,” he gasps.

 _ **I know what sex is.**_ Venom sounds annoyed. _**The level of carbon dioxide in your blood is dropping too quickly. Stop it, Eddie.**_

He pulls in a wheezing, strangled breath. “ _What the… fuck does that even mean?!_ ”

Venom suddenly pushes out of him, covering him completely. And they stumble up out of bed and stomp to the bathroom, ducking to fit under the doorframe. Venom grabs the plastic cup and fills it with water from the spring. Chugs it, then does it again five more times. The cup looks tiny in their giant, clawed hand.

**“That's better.”**

Venom recedes back inside, and Eddie’s left staring at his rumpled self in the mirror over the sink. He sways a little and clutches the edge of the counter to stay on his feet, blinks stupidly at his slack face. _What…?_ That’s... a familiar sensation.

He leans in closer to look at his eyes—his pupils are dilated. “ _The fuck…?_ Is this water getting you high?”

 _ **Maybe.**_ There's a pause while Venom presumably searches his memories for the experience of getting high, and then a grunt. _**Probably.**_

Eddie can't help smiling despite everything. He _does_ feel calmer now. And, actually, high as fuck. “Damn, V. We got an appointment in an hour or so.”

_**The effects won't last that long. You were freaking out, Eddie. I had to do something.** _

“You coulda just messed with my brain, you know, like you always do.”

_**You told me not to do that anymore. You said it wasn't okay.** _

“Yeah, well… you just made me take space drugs.” He's not really mad, though. He turns on the sink and splashes cold water on his face—normal water, this time—tries to stick his hair back down. It doesn't help much. He should really take a shower, but they're running behind. Eating always takes longer now than it used to, when he's doing the eating. There's only so much food he can cram down his throat at one time without attracting attention.

He dries his face off and brushes his teeth, pulls some clean clothes out of his bag, tugs them on. Grabs his jacket from the back of a chair. Just moving, not thinking about anything except the next step.

And then Venom has to go and say, _**There's nothing wrong with what we did. I liked it.**_

“Let’s not… Can we just not talk about this right now? Please?” Venom was right—that high is fading fast, and he's already crashing back into his pathetic reality. He’ll be okay if he just doesn't think about it. Not until he's achieved a safe distance.

He can feel the symbiote’s tired disapproval of his favorite coping mechanism. _**Everything will be alright, Eddie.**_

“Yeah, yeah.” He pats the pockets of his jacket—phone, notebook, pen, keys—all there. “Let’s just… get something to eat, okay?

 

***

 

The Gorman house is out at the end of a little dirt track off the main highway that runs through the town, surrounded by the lopsided remains of outbuildings and lush fields of artichokes disappearing into the fog. No neighbors out here that Eddie can see.

At least it's not raining anymore.

The place must’ve been a working farm at a one point. But the old, two-story farmhouse looks weathered and beaten. The roof on the barn behind the house has fallen in and the remains of machinery—a tractor, an old plow, a truck—are rusting in the fields. No longer working, then.

Eddie parks his bike behind an older model Taurus in the gravel driveway.

“This is the place,” he says, mostly to himself. Venom's been quiet since ordering breakfast.

Once Eddie’s on the porch, he can see that the house is actually in decent shape. The wood trim around the windows has been replaced recently—it just needs to be painted. The porch is solid under his feet. Someone’s been taking care of this place.

He steps up to the door and knocks. After a moment, there's the sound of a deadbolt sliding back and then the door opens just a crack. A woman peeks out. “Ms. Gorman?” he asks.

The woman's eyes scan behind him and then settle on his face. “Are you Eddie Brock?”

He gives her his most charming smile. “That's me.”

“Well, come on in then.” Only she doesn't open the door, just widens it slightly.

Eddie squeezes sideways through the narrow gap and freezes. _Whoa_.

_**There are a lot of these things in here. Anne only has one.** _

Eddie grunts in agreement. There are indeed a lot of cats in here.

Irene shuts the door quickly behind them, presumably to keep the cats inside. Eddie takes two steps and then stops in the middle of the room because at least three cats are now twining around his legs and he's afraid to move.

Irene starts shooing them away from Eddie with her feet. “Sorry about the cats,” she says. “I run a cat rescue and we got a pretty bad feral problem here. I take in as many as I can, try to get them adopted out.” She picks up a floppy orange tabby, kisses it on the head, and dumps it into an easy chair. “Since my father disappeared, I haven't had as much time to find homes for them.”

“No problem.” Eddie steps carefully over to a bare spot on the couch, lowers himself down between the cats sleeping there. They blink up at him with their weird, alien eyes. Eddie blinks back. He was never really a cat person.

The room is dark and cluttered with random decorations. Equal measures of cat and religious art, crosses on the wall made of sticks and fake flowers that look like Irene might have crafted them herself. Eddie thinks it would probably smell more like cats, except for the overpowering miasma of smoke—both tobacco and weed—in the air.

Irene Gorman shoves a cat out of a chair and pulls it over to the couch, sits down across from him. It hits him abruptly that she’s just about the oldest person he's seen in Mineral Springs. And she doesn't even look _that_ old—maybe late forties, not much older than he is—but compared to everyone else he's seen here, she's looks rough, like she's had a hard life. Dry, dirty-blond hair pulled back from her face, tired eyes, smoker's voice.

“Mr. Brock, thanks for coming all the way down here. You're the first person who’s cared about what I got to say since those cops gave up on the case a couple months ago.”

“It's no problem.” He pulls his little notebook and a pen out of his pocket. “Do you mind if I take down some notes while we talk?”

She waves a hand at him. “Course not. That's why you're here, isn't it?”

Eddie nods. When he'd asked her about her father, she'd implied his disappearance was part of a bigger conspiracy. He still has no idea if he’ll find anything here that might be worth publishing. But he figures he can listen, and maybe there's some way he and Venom can help her out, so he gets right to the point. “Can you tell me what you think’s going on here?”

“It's this town,” she says. “There's something wrong with it.”

“What's wrong with it?”

She leans in close. “There's a spirit, Mr. Brock. An entity.”

“Uh...” Eddie looks around stupidly like it might be in the room with them right now. He can feel Venom stirring with interest. “A spirit?”

“Yes. It lives in the town. It's part of this place.”

“Is it like…?” He realizes he has no idea where he was going with that question, and starts again, “What kind of spirit?”

“I've never seen it. No one has. But it's been here forever. Some say it was here even before people came and settled. It's what gives everyone who lives here their special gifts. I'm sure you've noticed by now that our town’s a little… _odd_.”

Eddie smiles. “Hard to miss.”

Irene nods, still serious. “It's the spirit. That's why we're like this.”

“Like what… exactly?”

“The people here don't get old. And they don't ever get sick. I don't think they even die, Mr. Brock. I've never been to a funeral for anyone who’s from Mineral Springs in my life. The spirit takes care of them.”

“No one dies?”

“That's right.”

The interview has definitely taken an unexpected turn. Eddie taps his pen against the notebook. The black cat on his left unfurls and digs its claws into his thigh. He can feel his symbiote bristle inside, swelling under his skin.

 _Don't eat it_ , he thinks at Venom.

Eddie glances up when he realizes Ortiz would’ve heard that for sure, but Irene obviously hasn't noticed him thinking about eating her cat. _Interesting_. “Can you read minds, too?” Eddie asks.

She shakes her head. “Not much. Not anymore. When I was a little girl I could hear everything, all the time. It drove me crazy, but I liked it, too. Made me feel special, powerful.”

“What changed?”

“ _I_ changed. I found God, Mr. Brock. I realized the people here were evil. They worship this thing like it's their god. A false god. I wanted no part of that anymore.”

“What do they do that's evil?”

The question seems to confuse her. “Well, they… well, they're not Christians, are they?” She narrows her eyes suddenly. “Are you a Christian, Mr. Brock?”

He wants to tell her that it's really none of her damn business, but that might be a bad move if he wants her to keep talking. He shifts on the sofa and the cats open their eyes and squint at him. “Uh, I'm Catholic.”

She makes a disapproving sound. “I'm only asking because”—she looks around and leans even closer, forcing Eddie back into the couch—”they might get you, too.”

“Huh,” he says, and writes, _spirit only gets non-christians?_ , in his notebook. “So, what, do they… sacrifice people to this spirit?”

She looks at him like he might be crazy. “No.”

“Murder people to keep their secret?”

“No! Don't be ridiculous.” A worried look crosses her face. “I mean, I don't think they do…”

Eddie lets out a long breath. He can feel Venom getting hungry again. _He's_ getting hungry again. “So, let me see if I understand…” He consults the notes he's taken so far. “There's some kind of invisible force in the town. No one’s ever seen it. But it somehow makes people psychic and cures any diseases. And it keeps them alive and healthy forever. But it's evil. Is that right so far?”

Irene’s mouth thins in disapproval. “I knew you wouldn't believe me. No one from outside does.”

“I believe you— _trust me_ , I do. I've seen some real wild… _stuff_ , lately. I'm just trying to understand what's going on here. You think your father’s disappearance is somehow linked to this… spirit thing?”

That seems to satisfy her. “I know it is. My father was a part of all that—just like the rest of them. Part of the inner circle. Before he disappeared, he told me he was dying. That he was sick. It was all a lie, Mr. Brock. He was never sick a day in his life. Just like all of them. He got his friend, Doc Reed to lie for him, make up some papers saying he had cancer.”

Eddie sits up straighter. This might be the first, actual tangible proof that something’s going on. “You still have those papers?”

“No. He hid them somewhere. Or got rid of them.” Irene’s eyes light up. “There’s more, though—at the library, where they keep the town records. Birth records and death records. A lot of those are fake. I looked them up. Doc Reed did those ones, too.”

Eddie writes, _check death records library._ He still feels like he has only pieces of the whole. And none of them seem like they should fit together.

“Why do you think your father lied?”

Irene takes a deep, shuddering breath and her eyes glisten. “I think he was going somewhere. Somewhere I couldn't go with him. And that was his way of saying goodbye.” She pulls a frayed tissue out of the pocket of her jeans and wipes her eyes. “Sorry, excuse me. You have to understand… He loved me. I know he did. And I still loved him, even if... It broke his heart when I told him I was done with… with being like the rest of them.”

“You don't think he's dead. What do you think happened to him?”

“I don't know, Mr. Brock. I just don't know.” She shakes her head. “Sometimes, people in this place, they just… disappear.”

 

***

 

The basement of Mineral Spring's tiny library, where the older county records are kept, is dark and musty. The main floor isn't much better. Eddie’s starting to think everything in this town must be perpetually damp for it to smell like this all the time.

 _ **Mold spores, mildew,**_ Venom says. _ **Fungal hyphae.**_

“Stop it, V. You’re turnin’ me on,” Eddie teases, but then it hits him again, what they did this morning, and his smile fades.

The librarian, who seems to be the only other person in here today, tilts her head curiously, probably listening in. She looks like she just stepped out of a period drama set in the forties. And, in Eddie’s admittedly useless opinion, she’s way too young for her somber calf-length skirt and gray turtleneck sweater. He wonders if she might actually be from the forties.

He still has no idea what to make of this place. They obviously don't want him here looking around, asking questions. But they’ve done absolutely nothing to stop him. For a bunch of possibly evil, spirit-worshipping, non-Christian, secret psychic cultists, they've all been surprisingly decent to him so far.

Case in point, forties librarian could’ve easily led him astray or lied and just said they didn't have what he was looking for, but she helped him find the records he needed. In a brusque and unfriendly way, sure, but she'd done her job.

Once she's got him settled at a table with a binder full of yellowed and mildew-splotched papers in front of him, she retreats behind her desk and watches him over the edge of her newspaper.

Unfortunately, now that they're in the quiet of the library, there are no more distractions, just a pile of boring as shit documents to stare at. His thoughts keep circling back to what happened this morning.

It's one of those things, Eddie thinks, that are out of his control. Wet dreams are normal. He just doesn't have them anymore. Not since he was eleven and figured out how to jerk off. And he's mostly gotten over that old, tired guilt, all those crippling hang-ups about sex his dad beat into him. It's not even that it happened in front of Venom, who’s already had to watch him do all kinds of stupid human crap...

 _No_. It's just that he can't help feeling like he took advantage of his best friend. And that’s what really makes him feel like shit.

_**You didn't take advantage of me. I wanted to have sex with you.** _

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and waves a hand in the air next to his head, like he can just sweep that thought away. “ _God, V._ Just… just don't say it like that, okay?”

 **Like what? Sex?** **We both enjoyed it. I don't see what the problem is.**

“Can we please not do this right now?” Eddie hisses. He’s getting the distinct impression that their conversation isn’t private.

The woman behind the desk looks up from her newspaper and glares at him. Eddie gives her an apologetic smile, hunches back over his work. “Look,” he whispers, “this is not a good place to have this particular conversation. We can talk about it later.”

_**You always say that, Eddie, but then we never talk about it.** _

Eddie winces. “Ouch, V.” _God_ , he's the worst. The worst boyfriend. The worst fucking reporter. And, now, the worst host.

 _ **Best host,**_ Venom grumbles.

Eddie turns a few more pages, tries to focus on the task in front of him. Every single record looks exactly the same, almost like someone photocopied them. They _are_ old, though—the foxing on the paper looks authentic. So these aren't recent forgeries, if that's what they are.

“Check this out.” He stops on a death certificate for someone named Ellen Resnick, deceased as of 1987. “All of these people have the exact same cause of death, _metastases_ , and the underlying cause just says  _cancer_. Same exact wording on all of these.” It's also not specific enough to be correct. He's been through enough death certificates to know. “And”—he flips back through the last few records to confirm—”they all have the same birthday. April 1st, 1946. _What the fuck?_ ”

The librarian clears her throat.

“ _Shit_ , sorry,” Eddie says.

He catches just a glimpse of a smile on her face before she disappears behind the newspaper again.

Eddie continues in a quieter voice. “V, take a look at this... This person died in 1987. Same cause of death, same everything. Check out the signature here.” He taps at the bottom of the paper, where the attending physician and officials sign. “Look familiar?”

Venom's not impressed. _**We’re supposed to be on vacation, Eddie.**_

These records are his best— _his only_ —lead so far. “Yeah, we’ll… Look, I promise I'll make it up to you. Just give me a few more hours to chase this down. Then it's your turn. We’ll do whatever you want.”

 _ **Hmmm…**_ He can feel Venom thinking it over. _**Deal.**_

 

***

 

He's not at all surprised to find Chief Ortiz leaning against her cruiser when he comes back out. The librarian probably sent her a psychic message as soon as he showed up. She's parked at an angle behind his bike, effectively blocking him in. He and Venom could lift it out if they needed to, but she's actually the person he wants to see right now.

“Mr. Brock.”

“Chief.” He grins at her.

She looks tired and stressed. Her shoulders are tight, arms crossed defensively. “I'd like you to come with me, please. We need to talk.”

He freezes. “Again? Am I under arrest?” If she's here to kill him, that's one thing, but he's not sure how he and Venom will deal with being arrested. He still has to be able to function in society.

She gives him an exasperated look. “ _No_. Nothing like that. That's not the way I run things here. I already told you that. I just thought we could get coffee somewhere. _Talk_.”

His grin grows wider. “Oh, so it's a date.”

She rolls her eyes, but the rigid set of her shoulders loosens just a bit. “Don't flatter yourself, Mr. Brock. You're really not my type.”

 

***

 

“So, what's your type?” he asks as he’s sliding into a booth across from her at the coffee shop.

Ortiz gives him a wary look. “What?”

He shrugs, easy, loose. He's good at disarming people—it's a gift. “Back at the library you said I wasn't your type. So I'm wondering what is. Your type, I mean.”

She shakes her head, but she's smiling again. “Man, you're a real pain in the ass. Anyone ever told you that before?”

“Once or twice.” He's honestly not trying to fuck with her or make her uncomfortable, he just always wants to know more about people. He’ll take any opportunity someone gives him and run with it, can't help himself.

Ortiz gives him a long, considering look and says, “You're not my type because I've already got someone. Someone I love very much.” She pauses and looks down, folds and unfolds her napkin on the table. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me. And I'd do anything for her. I hope you can understand that, Mr. Brock.”

He nods because, yeah, he can understand that.

Ortiz gives him a tiny nod back, then waves at the server over his shoulder, holds up two fingers. “Coffee okay?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

_**Water. I'm thirsty.** _

She gives him a sharp glance. “And a water, please, Gale,” she calls.

“Thanks,” Eddie says again.

 _ **Thank you**_ , Venom echoes.

When the water arrives, Venom grabs the glass using Eddie's arm, and they drink the whole thing down in what feels like a single swallow.

_**Ooh, that's nice.** _

It tastes like old metal to Eddie—familiar, and not in a good way—but Venom seems to enjoy it. It's not quite the pure spring water they'd shotgunned this morning, but he can feel a shiver of pleasure go through their body. Echoes of this morning. Eddie tries to keep his mind blank—because he's sitting across from a damn telepath—but it's really becoming a challenge.

Ortiz has been watching him curiously this whole time. Hopefully she didn't hear too much of that. God knows what the hell she’d make of it.

Eddie takes a sip of coffee to chase the taste of the water out of his mouth. “So what's it like?” He asks, desperate for a subject change. “Reading minds?”

She gives him a knowing look.

 _Fuck,_ she probably did hear everything.

Ortiz takes a slow sip of her coffee before saying, “It's… a little like hearing my own thoughts. Only they're not mine. Some of it is very clear and some of what I hear out there is… very confusing.”

Eddie nods. He can only imagine what that's like. Venom is just one person, but the constant commentary had driven him to distraction, initially. They're better now. Eddie doesn't even _hear_ his symbiote's unformed thoughts so much as _feel_ them.

Venom chuckles, low and lascivious. _**Only when I want you to, Eddie. But I can feel you all the time.**_

Ortiz smiles at him and Eddie tries to stop the blush that creeps up his neck. It's her fault if she gets an earful, he figures, since she's the one spying.

She finally takes pity on him and continues. “You’re… a lot harder to read than most people I’ve met. Actually, your thoughts are really soothing. A little like white noise.”

“Really?” Eddie finds that hard to believe. He figures he spends ninety-percent of the time jumping randomly from thought to thought, and the rest of the time stuck in a frustrating loop, obsessively chasing an idea. It's not exactly soothing for him.

“I think that's why,” she says, answering his unspoken question. “So many people are thinking about things in a logical order, a progression, all the time. They drift, of course, but it's coherent enough that I can follow it. It's a little like… overhearing someone’s phone conversation. I can't just tune it out. Your thoughts are only like that when you're talking to yourself.”

 _ **Talking to me,**_ Venom corrects.

“Exactly. Or when you're thinking about your story. Or the next lie you're going to tell me.” She smirks at him.

 _Fuck_ , that's right—the story. This psychic angle is interesting, too, and he wants to keep talking about it, but Eddie’s not sure how everything’s connected yet. He should probably stick to something tangible. “So, what can you tell me about David Gorman?”

Ortiz chuckles. “You're persistent, I'll give you that much.”

Eddie shrugs. “Just part of the job. So… David Gorman?” he prompts. “What happened to him?”

Her expression closes off again. “He's fine.” And they were just getting along so well...

“You're sure he's alive?” Eddie pulls his little black notebook out of his jacket pocket, flips to the last page he'd written on. “‘Cause his daughter said he told her he only had a few weeks left to live. Some kind of fast-moving brain cancer. And that was, what? Six months ago?”

Ortiz gives him a tight smile. “Like I said before… He's fine.”

“Where is he, then? Irene says she hasn't seen him in six months. Says it's not like him to take off like that. And right before he disappeared, he started acting strange—not sick at all, but hinting that he was going somewhere, giving away all his stuff, making sure she'd be okay, financially. Do you think he knew something was going to happen?”

“He sounds like a man who was getting his affairs in order. Maybe someone who knew he had a terminal illness and wanted to make sure his daughter would be okay without him.”

“Right,” Eddie says slowly. “But he's fine...”

She raises an eyebrow. “Did Irene also tell you there's an evil spirit haunting Mineral Springs?”

 _Fuck_. Eddie shrugs. “Maybe.”

Ortiz folds her hands on the table and leans forward. “I don't want to speak ill of anyone in our town, Mr. Brock. They're all like family to me, in so many ways. But Irene Gorman has had a troubled life. She's been in and out of hospitals since she was a teenager. Has a history of drug abuse, two suicide attempts… She's not the type of person who’s, shall we say, _believable_.

“And from looking at _your_ records, Mr. Brock… I guess you’d probably know what I'm talking about.” And there's that hardness in her eyes he’s been waiting for. The look that says _do not fuck with me because we will both regret it._

“It's Eddie,” he says absently. He leans back in his seat, taps his knuckle on the table. He's used to being threatened—nothing new about that—but he's surprised she’d go there. “You know, you guys really suck at this whole cover-up thing.”

“That's because there _is_ no cover-up, Mr. Brock. There are no missing people. And there's certainly no evil spirit.”

They stare across at each other for a long time in silence. Eddie’s surprised to find that it's not entirely uncomfortable. He wonders if she's enjoying the white noise of his thoughts right now.

_**Can we eat her?** _

Eddie rolls his eyes. “No,” he says out loud.

_**We should order something then. I want pancakes.** _

Ortiz doesn't look surprised anymore. “That voice in your head...” she starts.

“What about it?”

“You really think it's an alien living inside you?”

“I know it is. Why?” And then because she's shaking her head at him, “ _What?_ ”

“Nothing, just…” The corner of her mouth quirks up. “Well, it's obviously your voice, just… _deeper_.”

He leans back and huffs. “That's not my voice. I don't sound anything like that.”

Venom chuckles in his head.

Ortiz shrugs. “You're doing a weird accent, too, but it's definitely your voice. And it _feels_ like it's part of you.” She spins her half-empty mug slowly on the table, looks back up at him with soft eyes. “Doc Reed says you're exhibiting all the classic signs of schizophrenia.”

“I'm not crazy,” he says. “And maybe you shouldn't trust the opinion of a doctor who’s never met me before.” How did this conversation get turned around on him again?

“Does the voice tell you to do things?”

Eddie crosses his arms defensively. “No.”

_**Yes, I do, Eddie. All the time. You just don't listen.** _

“Not helping, bud,” he mutters.

Ortiz nods like he's just confirmed something. It's the same look people always get when they think they've figured him out. Eddie doesn't like it. He grabs his pen again and taps it on the table, thinking.

“How old are you?” he finally asks.

Ortiz’s eyes widen just slightly. He’s surprised her with that question—he can tell. She covers it up by pretending to be offended. “That's a rude question to ask a lady, Mr. Brock.”

Eddie shrugs. “Sorry. How about this, then—how long have you been the chief of police here?”

“That's a matter of public record. And you can do your own damn research.” He's pissed her off.

“I _have_ been doing research. There are records in the library that are over twenty years old. And they've all got your signature on them. As Mineral Springs’ chief of police. Which is just…” He smiles and shakes his head. “Incredible. ‘Cause you don't look a day over thirty.” Eddie leans back. “So what's your secret?”

She opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, Venom says, _**Maybe there's something in the water.**_

Ortiz goes deadly still. The whole dining room goes silent around them, too.

 _Huh_. Eddie looks around. The five or so people in the place are staring at them, their coffee, and pie, and served-all-day breakfasts forgotten. “What is it? Was it—?”

“Nothing,” Ortiz mumbles. She turns abruptly, meets the eyes of the server who’s wiping down a table nearby—Gale, he remembers. They share a long look that Eddie can't interpret. And there's a strange sound rising, almost like whispering, just at the edges of his hearing. He shakes his head and it stops just as suddenly. _Weird_.

Ortiz turns back to him, eyes troubled. Then she’s sliding out of the booth. “I've got to go, Mr. Brock. And you should, too, if you know what's good for you. If you had any damn sense.” She throws a few bills onto the table, strides out before he can even open his mouth.

Eddie just sits and stares at the door slamming behind her. That wasn't a threat, he realizes. It was a warning.

 _ **Pancakes,**_ Venom growls.

 

***

 

It's dark by the time they get back to their shitty honeymoon suite. And it's raining again, of course. The sound of water rattling in the gutters outside is louder than the constant dripping from the bathroom at least.

Eddie checks to make sure the door is deadbolted. “We pissed her off, V. Or scared her, or something. Did you see the look on her face before she took off?”

 _Something happened_ , he thinks. Either his question about her age or… that thing Venom said. Or both.

“And what about those death records? Those birthdays? Come on, man. I've never seen documents that were so obviously fake. It's like they're not even trying. This place is fucked up in a very deep way. I'm starting to think Irene isn't completely, _mmhfmm—_ ”

Venom shoves his shirt up over his head.

“V, what the hell?” Eddie realizes he's been so distracted, that he's just been letting Venom pilot his body around the room since he shut the door. Once the shirt’s off his face, he finally looks around. He's in the bathroom, standing in front of the tub. It's full of steaming water. Weird chemical-smelling water.

“What... are we taking a bath now?”

_**Yes, I want to have a bath. Right now. You promised. You said, whatever I want.** _

He'd rather get out his laptop and write everything down while it's still fresh in his mind, but V’s earned a break from his bullshit. And he _did_ promise they'd do… whatever Venom wanted. Which was kind of a dumbass move on his part, now that he's thinking about it. Because it usually involves eating someone.

“Fine. Yeah.” Eddie takes over the task of getting undressed, stripping off his pants and socks, tries not to worry so much about what happened in the room this morning. It's not like Venom isn't touching his naked body all the time.

He shakes his head to stop that thought from spreading and taking over his brain, steps into the tub before he can change his mind about this. The water smells fucking terrible, but it actually feels pretty damn good—just the right side of too hot. Eddie ducks his head under the surface and comes back up, swipes the water off his face before any can get in his mouth. Doesn't matter, though.

Venom leaks out of him and spreads into the water, biomass turning liquid, filling the whole tub. Eddie’s never seen them do that before. Not that they've ever taken a bath in their shitty shower before. “You alright there, bud?”

_**Yes. Happy.** _

Okay, then. Eddie relaxes into hot water mixed with happy symbiote. It _does_ feel pretty good. He's happy, too, he realizes. Oddly, probably inappropriately, after the day they've had. Maybe it's Venom he's feeling. Or it could be getting a good lead on a weird story. Or maybe he's just happy. Probably the water getting them both high again. Doesn't matter anymore, really.

He closes his eyes and lays back, thinking that he could really use a cigarette right now.

_**Those things’ll kill you, Eddie.** _

“Aww… you could just fix me.”

_**They smell like shit, too. Anne and Dan agree with me.** _

“Yeah, yeah.” There's a whole committee now: _People Who Think They Know What's Best for Eddie Brock._ Venom’s in charge, apparently. Chief Ortiz is an honorary member. Eddie finds that he doesn't mind so much.

He can feel Venom moving lazily in the water, brushing against his skin like a caress. And he can feel what Venom’s feeling, more clearly than usual—his intricately textured skin brushing against Venom’s smoother... _matter_. He lifts a hand and watches black water form into a little pool in his palm. Two small, white eyes open and blink at him. Eddie laughs and lets the dark liquid slide off his palm, drip back down into the tub. Not quite as viscous as he's used to.

“You really like this water, huh? What was that mineral…? Selenium, right?”

Venom rumbles in agreement—a happy sound. Eddie’s insides grow warmer just hearing it.

“Is that why we’ve been eating all that weird shit lately? Mussels have selenium, too?” His phone is still in his pants on the floor next to the bath. Eddie rouses himself enough to reach down and grab it, lean over the edge so he doesn't risk dropping it in the water, types, _what foods have selenium._

_**Mmm, no. Not selenium. Manganese. We need that, too.** _

“Yesterday, you said you _sometimes_ need them. For what?” Google confirms that mussels are a good source of manganese. _Learn something new every day_ , Eddie thinks. “Just to get high? What do you need them for?”

Silence from his better half. Just Venom swirling around his body, inside and out, content. But Eddie can feel them choosing not to answer.

He settles back into the water, closes his eyes and mumbles, “Okay, fine. Don't tell me. _Dick_.”

Venom chuckles and swirls some more. Eddie can feel ripples, like the smallest waves, lapping at his skin. Whatever spell Venom’s under— _selenium high, maybe?_ —it's affecting him, too. He doesn't mind. If he can swallow a whole fucking person and eat shellfish off a rock in the bay to keep Venom happy, then he can probably tolerate taking a bath in some weird chemical water. And, anyway, he feels good like this. They both do.

He drifts and remembers sinking into the mud again, spreading out, enjoying the passive diffusion of ions across his membranes, achieving balance…

 _Weird_.

That thought reminds him of Ortiz and the coffee shop, and he opens his eyes again. “Back there, at the restaurant… you said _maybe there's something in the water_. Remember that?”

_**Of course I remember.** _

“Were you talking about the minerals? The… ions? _Or…_ something else? The spirit?” Eddie hazards. “What did you mean?”

_**Nothing. It's just a figure of speech. Something humans say.** _

Eddie hums, considering. “Do you think the water has something to do with the telepathy thing? The fact that these people don't seem to age? Or get sick? Ortiz got pretty freaked out when you said that.”

_**Hmmm… Don't know. Maybe. I don't know enough about humans yet.** _

“You know everything about me, though.”

_**Yes. But you're special, Eddie. Mine.** _

Eddie smiles. “Aww, thanks, bud. I think you're pretty special, too.”

He drifts for a while, loose and relaxed. Venom moving in the water around him is almost like getting a massage. He feels really good, like he's floating in a warm ocean instead of soaking in an old tub. There's a strange tingling sensation somewhere inside him, down deep in his groin. He's used to feeling Venom moving around his body, the faint shifting of the symbiote's mass, but it doesn't normally feel like this. This feels more deliberate, maybe. There's a heaviness in his balls, too, which he belatedly realizes is arousal. 

Eddie's not surprised to find that he's getting hard. “Are you up my ass again?”

_**Always up your ass, Eddie. We're always together.** _

Eddie snorts. “I mean literally, V. What are you doing in there?” The tingling gets more intense for a moment and Eddie shifts, trying to relieve some of the pressure. It feels… it feels a lot like what Venom did this morning when they were, when he…

He’s definitely hard now. He knows Venom can feel that, too.

And Eddie’s surprised to find that he's not panicking right now. He _should_ be panicking. The water is absolutely doing something to his brain, he thinks.

Venom flashes the mud image again in their mind and, along with it, a feeling of pleasure, of being with others of their kind. And then a memory from this morning— _Eddie at the moment of orgasm, nerves firing, muscles tensing, blood flowing out of swollen tissues, a flood of dopamine and oxytocin. Eddie’s mind and body completely open, sharing everything with Venom._

The two of them together, a single organism. _Complete_.

“Are you trying to tell me something, V? What's with the mud?”

**_Yes. I want to spawn. With you._ **

That finally jolts Eddie out of his daze. “Uh… what?” A little water sloshes over the side as he sits up. Bizarrely, his mind conjures up an image of salmon swimming upstream, probably something he saw once in a nature show. “Spawn, like… in a sexual way?” And then, he remembers how good it felt to sink his dick into black goo, because _that_ seems to be what Venom really means.

 _ **You heard me.**_ Venom sounds amused. _**And, yes, I mean in a sexual way.**_

“Uh, because, this morning… that was probably just, like, an accident or something…” Now he can actually feel the heat creeping up his neck. Can't quite blame that on the bath. “I thought you guys didn't have different sexes—I mean, you don't have a gender?”

 _ **We don't. Don't need to have a gender to enjoy sex, Eddie.**_ Venom doesn't bother to add _you idiot_ to the end of that, but it's implied.

Eddie scrubs a hand through his wet hair. “What I mean is… Don’t you just, uh, split in half when you need to make more of you? Like a… like a starfish or something. Because that seems like the way you guys would do it, you know, if you had to. Do it.” He's rambling now, but Venom doesn't seem to mind.

_**My kind can reproduce asexually or sexually depending on the need. Sometimes we clone our matter and produce an identical organism. Sometimes we combine our matter with that of another to produce a new organism.** _

“Oh, uh… _Huh_. That's…” He nods. Venom hasn't shared much about the Klyntar—just the barest hints and impressions—and that's all new information. And everything suddenly makes more sense, including Venom’s reluctance to talk about anything lately in a straightforward way. The mud dream must be Venom’s memories of sex. “Is that why we're here? Why you've been eating all that weird stuff? Is it a spawning thing?”

_**Yes. We need high concentrations of certain minerals to spawn. Manganese, selenium, zinc. Foods on this planet have some of those things but not enough. This water, though… It’s perfect. Exactly what we need.** _

“Isotonic,” Eddie says. It's not a word he would use, but something that came from Venom, probably stored in his brain—something he heard once or read somewhere.

_**That's right.** _

“You know we can't, uh, combine our matter, right? The two of us? It doesn't work like that. We're not the same species.”

 _ **I'm not an idiot, Eddie. I know that won't work.**_ Venom doesn't really sound annoyed, though, just fond. There's a longish pause and Eddie can feel Venom considering how to explain. _**When you masturbate, do you do it to make a new organism?**_

“Uh, no…” he answers carefully. He can already see where this conversation is going and he's not sure if he wants to go there with it.

_**You’ve had sex with Anne many times. And you had sex with that guy who had a piece of metal in his tongue one time. Did you make a new organism then?** _

“Well, uh, that’s like…” Eddie stammers. “I mean, no, I didn’t. _We_ didn’t.”

_**You did it because it feels good. For Klyntar, spawning feels good, too.** _

“And splitting yourself in half doesn't?” He knows he's steering the conversation away from the point Venom’s trying to make, but he can't help be curious.

 _ **No. The opposite—the process of fission is painful for us. But spawning…**_ Venom’s voice trails off in a low rumble, and Eddie feels… _the molecules of his body loosen and spread out into the solution, biomass tangling with the biomass of the others. Three, maybe four, together, joining as one, biological information mingling..._

There's a jolt inside him that feels like a gentle buzz of electricity running up his spine to his brain, exploding in little, shivery bursts. Eddie’s hands spasm on the edges of the tub. He actually gasps with how good it feels. “ _V…_ ” he warns.

_**Let me show you, Eddie.** _

_Oh, God._ “You just… you want to, uh, masturbate?” That seems fair. If he gets to do it when he feels the urge, why shouldn't Venom be allowed? Even if it's weird, alien goo masturbation in a bathtub full of mineral water. While he's also in the tub, with the alien goo. “That's it, right?”

That's not sex, is it? Not exactly. Even if they're in the same body, there must be a line you could draw somewhere. Technically, it's just masturbation. That wouldn't be too weird, would it? Not as weird as what happened this morning...

 _ **Eddie, you're thinking too much**_ , Venom admonishes.

Sometimes he can't stop his mind from taking off in a million different directions at once. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry, bud. It's just… a lot to think about.”

_**Then don't.** _

He's not a fucking prude, but it's hard to get past that old Catholic guilt. On the other hand, he's always been a terrible Catholic. And maybe the chemicals in the water are making the decision easier than it should be. Or he just wants this because he’s a pervert. But if Venom's okay with this— _wants it, even_ —then is it really wrong?  _Doesn’t matter_ , he decides.

“Okay, V. Yeah.” Eddie nods to himself. “Let’s do this.”

He can feel Venom’s happiness surge through him. It feels good to be wanted like this. “What do you… What do you need me to do?”

_**Just relax and let me in.** _

“Isn’t that pretty much what I do all the time?”

_**Yes. But there is always always a part of yourself that you try to keep hidden from me. Separate.** _

_Does he?_ If he does, it’s not a conscious thing. Eddie scratches at his eyebrow. “I’m... not sure how to stop doing that.”

**_This morning you let me in. I felt what you felt. You felt what I felt. We were one._ **

_Oh_. “Yeah, that was…” Eddie wants to say _weird as fuck_ , but it was actually pretty great.

_**I think I know how to help. Can I touch you, Eddie?** _

Venom is touching him right now, is always touching him, but Eddie knows what they mean. “Yeah. _God, yeah._ ” He's so fucked up that he wants this. “Just… just take it easy, okay?”

_**Would never hurt you.**_

"I know that," Eddie murmurs. He shuts his eyes and tries to relax, let Venom do... _whatever_ they need to. He's just along for the ride right now.

The black slides around him more insistently, caressing, pushing, pulling. Drifting back in through his skin and out again. The electric, tingling feeling is back, doubled. Then tripled. He can feel something in his ass, now, moving smoothly teasing him open. Almost like a tongue, only better. He tries to clench down and finds he can't. That should be terrifying—being controlled like this—but a hot rush of excitement goes through him instead.

“ _Fuck, V_ …” He melts back into the water, lets his legs fall open.

Venom rewards him with the perfect amount of pressure against his prostate. Eddie drops his head back against the edge of the tub and pants. He’s shivering, but he's not cold—if anything, he's too hot—he's just feeling too much right now.

Something touches his erection under the water. His arm has moved, he realizes, without his input. He looks down at the hand wrapped around his dick, stroking. It's not his hand—it's _their_ hand. The sight, almost more than the feeling, pushes him right to the edge.

 _Oh, shit..._ "V, I'm gonna... I'm—"

 _ **Together**_ , Venom rumbles. _**At the same time.**_

“Yeah,” he gasps. This might be too close to sex—or is this, like, the definition of sex? getting off at the same time? _—fuck_ , he doesn't even know, but he doesn't give a shit right now because he feels too fucking good.

Their hand speeds up, but he doesn't even need it anymore because he’s already there. _Oh, God, he's so close…_  But Venom’s stopping him, holding him back. “ _Please_ , _V_ …”

_**Almost, Eddie. Almost time…** _

He's aware of something else happening to his skin. Something weird. He feels like he's merging with the water somehow, like the cells on the surface of his body are coming unstuck and drifting away. He honestly can't tell if that's just what Venom's feeling, or if it's actually his own body coming apart. He jerks in the tub, tries to moves his legs just so he knows they’re still his. Water sloshes over the side.

**_Stop trying to keep yourself separate. There is no need. We are us._ **

“I just…” he grabs at the words, which are getting farther away, harder to remember, “I don't know—”

_**We’re okay, Eddie. I promise. Let go.** _

" _Oh, God_ ," he gasps, and then he does. He closes his eyes and stops fighting to hold himself together, to make sense of what's happening. And he's suddenly slipping out into the water with Venom.

He’s coming apart. And it's a release, it's ecstasy.

It's like nothing he's ever felt before— _indescribable_. The closest thing is the only time he’d shot up cocaine, an experience so intensely pleasurable that he'd been terrified to ever try it again, knowing he'd never want anything else after that.

But this is gentler, sweeter. And it’s so much better.

He can feel his own orgasm, distantly, in the background. A layering of physical pleasure under whatever’s happening in his brain. He's aware of his body functioning as a wonderful sum of complex parts working together, can follow how action triggers reaction, can savor each moment. It's so good, _so good._

His brain is whiting out, explosions of stars and sparks obliterating the last human thought, the last barrier between them, until there’s nothing else. Nothing… except _them_.

Because they are Venom.

 

***

 

He comes back to awareness slowly, little flashes of _now_ mixed with _then_. _I_ mixed with _Us_. _Human_ mixed with _Other_.

Venom wakes as he wakes. They open their eyes together and stare at the ceiling. And their thoughts are the same: _water stain looks like smoke, human dwelling, shitty hotel, fungal hyphae, bacteria, calcium sulfate dihydrate over cellulose pulp, old drywall, mold spores…_

He can _taste_ the fucking spores drifting in the air.

Eddie struggles to pull himself back, disentangling his thoughts from Venom’s. The edges of _him_ are fuzzy, bleeding into their perfect whole. It feels amazing, but he can’t stay like this. He needs to be human. Talking will help, he thinks, putting his thoughts into order, using words to articulate an idea instead of these alien feelings.

“The water’s gettin’ cold, V.” He's surprised when his voice comes out sounding like his own.

_**Hmmm?** _

He slides out of the bath, feeling like some deep sea creature brought up from the depths—a jellyfish, maybe, limp and boneless. An alien from a planet somewhere far across the galaxy, climbing out of a primordial swamp. Black matter as smooth and slow as tar slips out with him and pools on the floor around his feet.

“Come on. Get back in here. You're making the floor all slippery,” Eddie slurs. Sleep first. He can clean up the water they spilled tomorrow. Right now, he's almost too tired to move. The sex—whatever they just did—has fucking wrecked him.

There's a sleepy grumble from Venom, but the black seeps languidly across the floor and tangles itself back around his legs, enough that he can move. Eddie stumbles into the other room and crash lands on the bed. They're both still soaking wet, but who gives a fuck? The bed’s already growing fungus.

He has an incredibly vague thought about his phone, and Venom slaps the thing into his hand before he can even articulate it. “Thanks, bud,” he mumbles. There's one new text from Annie, asking how things are going. He's too tired to do anything about it, though, and he shoves the phone under his pillow and wraps himself up in damp sheets and black tendrils.

“V, that was…” He's not actually sure what he's going to say, even trying to say.

_**It was good. Perfect. We are perfect. Go to sleep, Eddie.** _

_Fuck, yeah_ , he thinks, _sleep_ , and the soothing darkness of alien skin folds him into an embrace.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay, guys! Long chapter + kids home for summer + new puppy = extra slow writing.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: sex, very mildly painful sex, sort of sounding

Eddie’s getting used to everyone in the coffee shop staring at him while he eats breakfast. He’s decided to just give in to his basest impulses and stare back because… why the hell not?

He chews and stares and tries to decide what's bothering him about the people here. Their clothes, he thinks. Nothing too obvious, but the styling is weird—a mix of modern and old-fashioned that he's never seen anywhere else. The waistlines on the men’s pants are too high. Women’s skirts are all too long. No one’s wearing any yoga gear or graphic tees. Grown men and women are wearing overalls. There's a guy who looks like he's in his mid-twenties wearing a damn bow tie.

Eddie smiles and waves cheekily at a woman in a chunky green sweater and narrow, rimless glasses who's been glaring at him like it's her job. She harrumphs and turns back to her plate of eggs.

His phone buzzes against the table. Eddie swallows down a mouthful of pancakes and checks the screen. It's another text from Annie— _WHAT’S UP?!,_ which is her way of asking if he's died in a motorcycle crash.

Eddie sighs and unlocks the thing, types out, _We’re fine. Don't worry_ , with one thumb, letting autofill do most of the work because he's still busy shoveling pancakes into his mouth with the other hand. The thing about Anne is—

“More coffee, hon?”

Eddie almost flings his phone across the table, ends up nearly crushing it in his fist, instead. The server, Gale, is standing right next to him. Eddie hadn't even heard her walk up. He coughs. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

She tops off his mostly full and forgotten cup and shuffles off.

Eddie stares at the steaming mug for a moment before ripping open a sugar packet and dumping it in. He's been craving spring water this morning, actually, and now he's almost too full for coffee. Something Eddie would’ve assumed was impossible until this moment. They've already had about a gallon of water this morning. It still tastes like shit, but he feels compelled to drink it. Or Venom does. Eddie’s finding it harder to tell their urges apart right now.

Which is another thing that's new. Eddie wonders if that’s also permanent.

He sighs and finishes his text— _Having fun. Be back in two days._

 _ **You should tell her we had sex,**_ Venom says cheerfully.

“Not gonna do that,” Eddie mumbles.

Venom always wants to tell Anne everything. Maybe because the two of them spent time together, or maybe because she just has that effect on everyone, including goo monsters from space. Eddie still has to resist the urge to blurt out all of his sins to her whenever they’re face to face. It's easier to avoid confessing in texts. He hits send and stuffs his phone back in his pocket.

His mind strays, unbidden, back to the way he felt last night, and then this morning… Because that's what Venom’s thinking about, he realizes.

He’d been horny as hell when he woke up, hard and aching, and he was worried that Venom would want to act on it. Luckily, their ever-present, morning hunger soon eclipsed his libido. And they'd ended up back at the coffee shop before Eddie had to face another sexual crisis.

The whole experience is kind of messing with his head. He still feels scattered, like his edges are frayed. And he’s aware of his body in a way he never was before, almost like he's slipped on a new pair of jeans that haven't been broken in. He clenches his fist against the table, just to make sure it still works the way he thinks it should, that he still has a fist. Last night, he hadn't been entirely human. He wonders if this is how Venom feels all the time, like a visitor in his own body.

He knows, on some level, that he should be more freaked out right now. Not just about the whole _not human_ thing. There's also the fact that he just had sex with the alien that lives inside his body.

 _ **You had sex with your best friend,**_ Venom insists.

Eddie snorts. That sounds so sappy, like something a teenage girl would write in her diary, but it's accompanied by such a feeling of warmth from Venom that Eddie doesn't mind the sentiment. He can feel an equally sappy smile on his face.

 _Best friend,_ he agrees. And, yeah, he’ll admit it… Whatever they did feels a lot less deviant when he thinks about it like that.

He takes a sip of coffee and grimaces. It tastes bitter and just _wrong_. He wonders idly if the server is trying to poison him.

 _ **There's no poison in there. Just coffee,** _Venom says in disgust.

“I know you hate coffee, but I like it.” He winces and sets the mug back down. “ _Used_ to like it,” he amends. Eddie chases the coffee down with more mineral water. It's fucking disturbing how quickly he's gotten used to this shit.

 _ **Eat more,**_ Venom suggests.

Eddie sighs and stuffs a piece of bacon into his mouth, thinking, _work_. He needs to focus on work.

Venom grumbles the way they always do when Eddie tries to pay attention to something else.

“Hey. You're enjoying this breakfast right now because I work. I don't know how they do things on Klyntar, or whatever, but here on earth we need money to buy stuff.”

_**We Klyntar feed whenever we are hungry. We eat whatever we want. Whatever tastes delicious.** _

“That's great, V, but I still need to get shit done, okay? So can we focus for a few minutes? At least stop hijacking my brain so I can concentrate.”

_**Want to spawn again soon, Eddie.** _

“Yeah, I can tell. Just let me work this morning. Give me… three hours. Then you _can—we_ can, uh, spawn together. Or whatever.” His face heats up just saying it.

_**Deal.** _

 

***

 

True to their word, Venom retreats from his mind when they get back to their room.

Eddie can still feel the symbiote’s presence, but it's distant, like in those first days when he hadn't _known_. He can put aside everything going down between them for a while and just focus on work.

He pulls out his laptop and sits on the bed, propped up against the headboard with some moldy pillows.

He doesn't have enough for a story yet, not even an angle for a story, but he can write down his impressions of the people and the place while they're fresh. He types in short, quick bursts—whatever comes to him because he's never sure which details might be useful later. About Chief Ortiz and the pictures on her desk, the musty deer head she said wasn't hers, the librarian, the woman in the chunky green sweater and what she had for breakfast. He writes about the nearly constant rain and endless, gray fog that seems to sit in the valley like a shroud, keeping the town hidden from the rest of the world. The swamp smell of artichokes in the fields, the smell of Irene Gorman’s house—smoke and cats—the stink of mold that clings to everything here. The ridiculous log headboard behind him, the dirty shag carpet on the floor. The bitter, metallic taste of the water.

He spends the rest of the morning doing research again—more on the history of the town and the springs—jotting down notes mixed with his own observations of what the place is like today, trying to find some continuity between the past and the present.

Venom stays silent throughout, giving him the space he asked for.

Eddie finally puts his computer aside, stretches, and checks the clock again. He's been working for a little over three hours. Not enough, but at least he got something down. He can feel Venom returning to his mind, back from wherever it is that they go when he needs to be alone. He smiles.

“Hey, V. Did you know that the springs were considered a sacred site by the indigenous people who lived here?” He's not sure why he always tells Venom stuff they already know. It's just a habit, a way to have a normal conversation. And talking helps him think. Venom doesn't seem to mind.

“They didn't have any permanent settlements in this valley, though. No one’s sure why. One of the original Spanish explorers claimed he'd found the fountain of youth here, but he was kind of a crazy fucker so no one believed him. Even though, you know”—Eddie shrugs—”turns out he was probably right.”

Venom makes a low, thoughtful sound, but doesn't say anything.

Eddie goes on. “The Spanish actually built a mission here. They decided to block off the source of the spring by collapsing the original cave entrance, which—I don't know—seems like overkill, maybe? The mission was destroyed—someone burned it to the ground in 1834—and the priests disappeared. Kind of a coincidence, huh? Miners dug out the spring entrance about a hundred years later. And the town of Mineral Springs was founded in 1899. The place stayed quiet until the thirties, when this lodge was built and tourists started coming here for the mineral water.”

That’s the story the history books tell. But underneath the surface, there are rumors. Hard to track down on the internet, but he’s found them. That the native people never settled here because they were afraid of this valley. That the Spanish explorer was thrown into the spring by his own men. Men who claimed he'd been overtaken by an unholy spirit, and turned mad. That the priests stripped off their robes and, with their own hands, lit the fire that burned the mission. Mineral Springs remained prosperous, but never grew, even as the rest of California moved on.

Eddie gets up and wanders into the bathroom, fills a glass with mineral water and drinks it, still thinking.

There's a story here. Maybe not a story about a missing man, or an evil spirit that grants immortality. But a story about a small, isolated California town with a dark history. That's not the story he came here to write, though it could be.

He fills the glass one more time, takes another sip. He feels more relaxed already—liquid courage. “So, I guess I made a promise…” he starts.

_**You did.** _

“Okay, so… What’s the plan?”

_**I want to have human sex.** _

Eddie can't help laughing at that. “Human sex, huh?”

_**Yes. What you experience. I want that. I want to learn.** _

Eddie takes another sip. Shit’s still horrible, but he's starting to get a taste for it. He wonders if this is how people can eat gefilte fish. “Can't you just rummage around in my head to figure out what human sex is like?”

**_Already have. Your memories are not the same as the real thing._ **

“I thought you wanted to spawn?”

_**Human sex is very similar to spawning.** _

Eddie snorts. “Yeah, V. Every human I know likes to get down and dirty in the swamp.”

_**You know what I mean, Eddie. Stop playing dumb. Now let's do it.** _

“Fine.” No more delaying tactics. Venom can see right through his bullshit, anyway.

Eddie glances over at the bed. The thought of fucking an alien there—even if it's Venom— seems almost… _dirty_. He knows they've technically already done it, but he still can't get past the fact that they're in a damn honeymoon suite and the bed has probably been christened by fifty years worth of newlyweds. He's not sure why that bothers him, but it does. Anyway, the bed stinks, especially after last night.

 _The shower?_ Eddie's always enjoyed sex in the shower and Venom seems to like being wet.

_**Yes. Water feels better on my skin in your toxic atmosphere.** _

“Okay. That's decided, then.”

Eddie finishes his water and turns on the shower. The pipes sputter and bark, but water eventually sprays out. It's even hot. _Shocking_.

Eddie strips off his clothes, tries to ignore the mildewed shower curtain and the water stains, and steps in. Venom comes out as soon as the water hits his skin. Not taking any particular shape, just flowing over him. It feels good, almost like a massage.

Venom feels happy touching him, too. To the symbiote, his skin is interesting—full of different textures, tastes to explore.

“How is it that I can feel what you feel?” Eddie asks. “ And you can feel what I feel? We don't have any of the same… structures.” He's thinking of how the symbiote had looked in the MRI room—like something that had been dragged up from the bottom of the ocean. Truly alien. But also small and vulnerable without a host. “Your nervous system has to be pretty damn different, right? I mean… how do the same things feel good to both of us?”

_**It is like… a language. Our close connection makes that translation possible. Integration is a necessary survival mechanism for symbiote and host.** _

Eddie grunts. When they're out hunting, they work together seamlessly, like a single organism. Eddie’s not aware of any places where they don't fit exactly—the same need, the same drive to stalk, to kill, and feed. Maybe that's what Venom means when they say _perfect_.

_**Yes. Perfect symbiosis is rare. But, together, we are perfect.** _

“You're gettin’ all sappy again, V.” But he feels it, too—the joy at what they’ve found in each other. They _are_ perfect together.

While they’ve been talking, Venom’s massage has moved lower, flowing down around his dick. Eddie looks down, watches Venom’s biomass—black shot through with threads of white—swirl around him. He’s already hard, has been since before stepping into the shower, really.

He never really noticed Venom’s attention when he’s masturbated before. Usually, he's too busy getting off as quickly and efficiently as he can, trying not to prolong anything. And Venom stayed hidden. Now Eddie can feel the symbiote poking at him, somewhere in there—it tickles.

**_The blood puts pressure on this vein. Now the flow is blocked._ **

“Yeah… that's how my dick works.”

 _ **Hmmm…**_ More gentle poking. Eddie tries not to laugh. _**It feels good, but also annoying.**_

“Annoying, huh?”

_**Yes. Like we need to sneeze. But can't.** _

Eddie chuckles. “Yeah, it’s… I'm not sure I'd call it annoying, but yeah. There's a way to fix that, you know.”

_**I know.** _

He rests his head against the shower wall so he can look down, watch slick black tendrils squeeze around him, slide up and down slowly. Almost too slowly—enough to be close to annoying. But he doesn't want to rush Venom, knows this is for them, together, as much as for him. If Venom wants slow, he can do slow.

A small tentacle slides up and licks gently at his slit. It's smoother than a tongue, wet and warm. Eddie gasps and jerks when it dips in just slightly. _Oh, that's..._

He can feel Venom waiting, asking.

He's never tried something like that before. Everyone who’s ever suggested it was exactly the type of dirty fucker he wouldn't trust to stick anything up there. But he supposes it's no weirder or more dangerous than having Venom anywhere else inside his body, seeping in and out of him. Even if he's not sure where Venom came up with the idea. Too much time on Google while he's asleep, probably.

“Yeah. Okay.” Because why not? He's already letting an alien fuck him. And he's curious as hell.

The tentacle circles slowly and then slips inside. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a small, strangled sound. It doesn't hurt, exactly—just feels strange and a little overwhelming. The tendril is tiny and smooth and feels like tickling pressure inside of him, different than the way Venom feels when they're more diffuse. His hand darts down, reflexively, to grab his dick and he holds on, has to fight to keep his fingers loose. He can't tell if he wants to jerk off or take a piss, but he's afraid to do either.

Venom pets over his hand. _**Okay, Eddie? This is not hurting you.**_

“No, you're not hurting me.” He moves his hand experimentally up and down, squeezing gently. That feels good, and his dick didn't break, so… He does it again and then again, until he's jerking off properly. It feels so weird with something inside, though, something moving—almost too intense.

_**Let me do that.** _

“Yeah,” he breathes. But it's hard to let go. He manages to pry his hand away, lays both flat against the shower wall, forces himself still. Venom’s approval races through him like a flash of hot and cold, making him shudder.

Slick tentacles take over, smooth on his skin, and moving languidly. Teasing him, like last night. “Come on, V…”

Venom just chuckles, but another tentacle forms and presses against his asshole.

“Yeah, that,” Eddie murmurs. He's always liked getting fucked, hasn't really had the opportunity for a while. At least Venom doesn't make him wait for it this time, just pushes in, steady and slick. It feels amazing, and he groans in appreciation.

The groan turns into a breathless chuckle when the tentacle just… dissolves inside him. Eddie shakes his head. “Venom, you fucking dick.”

_**Trust me, Eddie.** _

“You know I do, V.”

And then there's a shifting, tingling pressure against his prostate, almost like a vibrator, but it's more intense, more direct than anything he could achieve from the outside. And it's really fucking good. So good… _Fuck_. He feels like he might come just from that. He's always been sensitive there. Eddie clenches his fists, bites at his lip to hold himself back. “V, hey, watch out—you got to—”

_**I'm on it.** _

And then he's being pulled back from the edge somehow, tension leaving him again even as Venom keeps working inside him. “Oh, that's… yeah, better.”

_**An easy reflex to suppress.** _

Eddie nods. That's a pretty cool trick. So is the prostate thing. He closes his eyes and just lets himself enjoy how great everything feels.

 _ **Human sex is rhythmic,**_ Venom says, startling him back to the present, and apropos of nothing as far as Eddie can tell.

“Uh… what?” It's getting harder and harder to focus on this conversation.

_**Your neurons, your muscles, your breathing, the way blood moves through veins and arteries… Even how you sleep and wake. All of these systems have their own rhythms. This is most obvious during sex.** _

“I've never… really thought about it that way.” Sex, sure—the rhythm of fucking—but not everything else his body does. Not that he thinks about his body at all, really.

**_I assumed this is why humans enjoy music._ **

“Klyntar don't like music,” Eddie guesses.

_**I find it mostly irritating, and sometimes dangerous. Unnecessary. Klyntar are not rhythmic the way humans are.** _

“You guys are more… flowy.” He's remembering how sex feels for Venom—a gradual merging, melting into the substance of another.

Venom hums in approval. _**Yes, we flow. We are continuous.**_

“Was it… hard to adjust? To be in a host who’s not like you?”

_**My kind has evolved to adjust. It is not hard. And you were easy, Eddie.** _

Eddie huffs out a surprised laugh. “ _Fuck_. Yeah, I suppose that's true.” He's been called worse than _easy_ before.

They fall silent for a while, letting the water wash over them, just feeling. Eddie's aware of Venom—the symbiote’s careful monitoring of his body, its tissues, organs, the integration of his systems. Venom’s sharp interest when his body does something new, with each change in homeostasis, the shift of hormones and signaling molecules in his blood as he gets closer to orgasm.

For a creature with no natural rhythm, Venom sure knows how to fake it, Eddie thinks. It's perfect—not too fast, not too slow, exactly right, each press and pull ratcheting him up higher, winding him tighter.

Eddie spreads his legs a little. He knows he doesn't need to—Venom’s inside him already—but it's an instinct. “V, _shit…_ feels good.”

Venom hums happily and the pressure inside him increases, the push and pull feel of sex gets faster.

There's some pain now—an ache deep in his ass, near his prostate, he thinks, a faint burning where the tendril is still moving inside his dick—but it's okay because he still feels great. He knows, rationally, that he's in pain, but nothing hurts when he's like this. Everything is just more sensation.

Venom picks up on his thoughts. _**Your brain responds to pain like it’s pleasure during sex.**_

“Yeah, that…” Eddie nods, frantically. “Yeah.” _That makes sense_ , he thinks.

_**Is this normal for humans?** _

“Don't know. Sorry,” he adds. He hopes it’s normal because otherwise it's just more evidence that he's a freak.

_**You're not a freak.** _

He remembers being young, confused and scared, all that teenage angst wasted, worrying about whether he might be gay or if he just liked taking it up the ass. And then being depressed, because either way he was going to hell. He has to remind himself every day that he doesn't need to worry about that shit anymore.

 _ **Stop thinking, Eddie,**_ Venom says, and then does something inside his body that has him up on his toes, groaning.

“V, that's… Can't…” he gasps. _Can't talk anymore. Sorry._

_**Don't need to talk, Eddie. Just feel.** _

It feels so good, _too_ good… Everything, every part of him filled, caressed. He's shaking now, holding himself up against the tile, breathing ragged. Holding back. “V, I need to…” he pants. “I'm gonna come. _Shit…_ D’ya want me to? I can… You can stop me again if you want. I won't mind. Anything you want… Whatever you need…” Because this is for Venom, and he wants what Venom wants.

 _ **Now is good, Eddie. Now is perfect.**_ And Venom nudges him over the edge.

He’s not sure how he can come with a tentacle up his dick, but his body is apparently just fine with it. He jerks his hips forward helplessly as shocking pleasure sweeps through him, crashes into him, and doubles back again, stronger.

“ _Jesus, fuck_ …” He's never had an orgasm quite like this. Each wave seems to go on forever, becomes almost too intense before receding. Until he's weak and shivering with overstimulation, water dripping into his open mouth.

He curls up a little, against the wall, breathless, when it's finally over. Gravity pulls at him, but he's not going to pass out this time. Not in this disgusting shower. “That was… _Fuck_. That was good.”

 _ **Yes, it was**_.

“Smug bastard,” Eddie says, fondly, still trying to catch his breath.

That strange doubling sensation is back. He’s suddenly hyper-aware of the contrast in textures between the tile and grout under his fingers, the chemical composition of the water—slightly basic, with added chloramine—the state of the mildew on the shower curtain—previously dormant, now entering a reproductive cycle with the return of moisture. Not as disorienting as it had been last night. Maybe he's just getting used to it.

The water’s long since turned cold, he realizes. They like it cold, so they stay in the shower, Venom sliding over Eddie’s skin, while he washes his hair and tries not to think too hard about the taste of the chemicals in soap.

 

***

 

Lunch is breakfast again, because that's what Venom wants. Eddie’s happy enough to oblige—any meal that doesn't involve lurking in alleyways or diving for shellfish is a win, in his book.

They're just heading back to the lodge, riding slowly through the dense fog that descended while they were eating, when red and blue lights flash behind them. Eddie pulls the bike over to the side of the road and just waits, tries not to fidget.

Chief Ortiz steps out of the police cruiser. She's actually in uniform today, Eddie notes. There's another officer in the passenger seat, but he doesn't get out.

Eddie nods at her when she steps up to him. “Chief Ortiz.”

She doesn't nod back. _That's a bad sign_ , he thinks.

“I'm going to need your phone, Mr. Brock.”

He stares at her for a few seconds. “My phone?”

“Your phone.”

He glances back at the cruiser, but the other cop is still just sitting there. “What? That's—”

Ortiz gives him an exhausted look and puts out her hand. “Give me your phone right now or I'll arrest you for obstruction.”

Eddie glares at her, and Venom growls for both of them, but he takes his phone out of his jacket and hands it over. “I'm not giving you my passcode. If you want that you're gonna need a warrant.”

“Already have it,” Ortiz says.

Evidently, she's not talking about a warrant. Eddie can only watch as she thumbs in his passcode and starts going through his phone. And he can't do anything to stop it, not without assaulting a police officer. He takes another look over his shoulder. The asshole in the car has a huge, shit-eating grin on his face now.

 _Fuck_ , he's an idiot. If everyone in town is a telepath, getting his passcode was probably trivial. “When? How?” he asks.

Ortiz doesn't bother to look up. “This morning. While you were at breakfast.”

The server, he remembers. She'd been hovering over him while he was texting Annie.

“Here.” Ortiz hands the phone back and Eddie tucks it into his jacket. He doesn't bother to check anything. He already knows she deleted the pics from his phone and the cloud. That's what he would do, anyway, if he was trying to cover up a conspiracy. Only, he'd probably go one step further...

She nods at him. “We had a flood in the library last night. All the town records were destroyed. A huge loss.” Her tone suggests it was anything but.

“Right,” he says. Of course. He still has the pics saved on his laptop. He’ll go back to their room, send them to Annie. There's no way—

Ortiz grimaces. “I like you, Mr. Brock, but I already told you—I will do whatever it takes to keep my people safe. We were careless before, but it won't happen again. It took you coming here to remind us that we need to take precautions.

“And I'm sorry,” she adds, before turning and walking back to her car.

 

***

 

“Fuck.”

_**You already said that.** _

“Yeah, well… _Fuck_.” There isn't much else to say. Everything in their room is destroyed, soaking wet, reeking of rust and mildew. His bags, his clothes, and—most importantly—his laptop.

Water is still spilling out of the overfilled tub. Eddie wades through the flood to the bathroom and shuts it off, even though he should let these assholes enjoy as much property damage as possible.

Fuck them. And fuck this place.

He rolls up his sleeve and fishes his laptop from the bottom of the tub, dumps the water out of it. They didn't even bother to make it look like an accident. Why would they?

He slogs back out to the bedroom and sits down on the edge of the bed—one of the few relatively dry spots in the room—resists the urge to hurl the sad remains of his computer at the wall. It's probably completely fucked after being underwater, but maybe something can be recovered. He doesn't know much about shit like that. He sets it down next to him. He _liked_ that laptop.

He can feel Venom sliding out to drape over his shoulders. It feels good—heavy and reassuring. Eddie reaches up and runs his fingers along V’s smooth surface. He can feel the brush of his own rougher, warmer skin against the symbiote’s matter, Venom’s affection for him, the sensations doubled back to him, until it feels like looking down an endless hall of mirrors.

“Fuck.” He says it quietly this time. They just sit like that for a while. Eddie works to get his breathing under control, stares at the water line creeping up the wall in front of him. There's a darker stain spreading below, blooming out and up. More fungus, he can still taste it—green and brown, like old cut grass. Feels like if they sat here long enough, fungus would probably grow on them, too.

Venom forms a small face and rubs a cheek along Eddie’s temple, soothing. **“Eddie…”**

He finally stirs. “Yeah, yeah.” Now is not the time to slip into a dark mood. It was just a fucking computer, but it was a gift from Annie, and replacing it will set them back by a fair amount. He's more bothered that Ortiz and the rest of them have won. He's got nothing and they know it.

He _does_ have an appointment with David Gorman's old doctor, and nothing better to do now that all of his work and their only real evidence is gone. Might as well keep it. So he hops on the bike and they ride out to Mineral Spring’s tiny health clinic.

 

***

 

Eddie’s surprised the guy agreed to meet with him at all. Doubly so after the doctor brushes him off in the first five minutes.

“Yes, Irene called me yesterday to let me know you'd be coming here.” Dr. Ansel Reed gives Eddie a smug smile from across his desk, clasps his hands in front of him. “Unfortunately, she doesn't have the authority to release those records. She's not the patient. So, I'm afraid I can't help you.”

“I thought her father was dead. Isn't she the next of kin?” He hadn't actually managed to track down a death certificate—fake or otherwise—before the records were destroyed, but everyone’s been kind of implying David Gorman isn't around anymore.

“I'm afraid I can't help you, Mr. Brock,” he repeats, and sits back in his chair.

Eddie sighs. This whole trip has been a frustrating waste of his time. And his computer.

He looks around the doctor’s office, noting the folksy decor—a few Norman Rockwell prints on the walls, a shadow-box with antique medical instruments in it, leather-bound books that he's sure no one ever reads lined up neatly on shelves, a crystal bowl of sugar-free candy on the edge of the oversized mahogany desk.

_**This guy’s a dick.** _

_Agreed_ , he thinks.

Doctor Reed twitches and his fake smile falters.

Eddie smiles at that. If he's not going to get anywhere asking about David Gorman, he might as well go for broke. He taps his pen against his notebook until the doctor’s eyes dart to it and he frowns. “Are you named after Ansel Adams?”

That shocks a laugh out of him. “No. It's just a coincidence. Just a name.”

Eddie nods. This guy looks about forty-five, balding, but who knows how old he actually is. “You can read minds, too, right? Like everyone else here?”

“Well, I d-don't… I mean,” the doctor stutters, “I don't know what to say to that, Mr. Brock. There's no such thing as mind-reading.” He spreads his hands imploringly. “Surely, even you must realize that.”

“Your chief of police already admitted she could do it. I'm pretty sure you can do it, too.”

Reed actually looks worried. “Alana said that?”

“Yeah, she did. Pretty much proved it to me. Why? Was she supposed to be keeping that a secret?”

The guy’s hand jerks up to his face and he bites absently at his thumbnail.

Eddie senses weakness. “What else was supposed to be a secret? The fake records in the library? The ones with your signature on them? Bet she gave you crap for that. After she had to clean up your mess.”

“No, those are… They don't exist anymore. Alana doesn't… We were all to blame for that mistake.”

Eddie shrugs. “I'm curious why you guys just left those sitting around. Where anyone from the outside could come and take a look. They were pretty damning. Really obviously fake, like you guys weren't even trying. Is that because you're incompetent? Or just lazy?”

Doctor Reed’s face flushes red and he sits up straighter, tugs on the lapels of his lab coat to straighten it. “That's not… We just didn't think—no one was supposed to…” Then he shakes his head and his eyes narrow. “Stop trying to fluster me, Mr. Brock. It won't work. I can assure you that we aren't keeping any secrets here. And even if we were… Please tell me, who would believe you?”

It's Eddie’s turn to chew on his finger. This asshole is right, of course. He's got nothing. No proof of any conspiracy. Not even a real missing person. Nothing beyond his own observations. And he still has no idea what's actually going on here beyond the vaguest evidence of telepathy and immortality. If he tried to take any of this back to his editor, she’d probably have him committed.

Reed nods at him, smug smile back in place. “That's right, Mr. Brock. A fifty-one-fifty hold would be easy for someone in my position. You've got a history of mental instability, including a past suicide attempt that led to an involuntary commitment. I've read your files. You're obviously still unwell. Paranoid and delusional, I'd wager.” The doctor waves a hand at Eddie. “I mean look at your actions from an objective point of view… Coming here. Ranting about missing people. Telepathy! Suggesting a whole town is perpetuating some bizarre conspiracy! Nothing you're claiming makes any logical sense.

“Who do you think a judge will believe, Mr. Brock? The chief of police and a respected doctor? Or you?”

Eddie stares at him for a long moment, jaw tight, before nodding. “You've made your point.”

“Indeed. Now, I think I've given you enough of my time, Mr. Brock. So, if you'll excuse me…” Reed stands up and puts out his hand to shake.

Eddie stands, too, tucks his notebook back in his pocket, deliberately slow, letting the doctor just stand there with his hand out. He can't quite refuse the offer to shake, even though he really doesn't like the guy. But when he clasps the doctor’s hand, something happens.

Time seems to slow down. He feels… stuck. _Frozen_. His muscles feel numb and sluggish, like he couldn't move if he tried. His body is too warm. And he can feel Venom stirring. Not in panic, but in curiosity.

 _ **Hmmm…**_ The symbiote’s voice rumbles through his head, louder than his own thoughts. _**There's… something.**_

Doctor Reed’s brow furrows, like he's really concentrating. He says, “Oh…” and then he's stepping forward into Eddie’s space, crowding him back against a bookshelf.

Eddie still can't quite freak out because Venom’s not freaking out. And Venom seems to be in control of their body right now. All he can feel is a strange sense of deja vu? Recognition? Something familiar that he can't quite name.

And that's when things get super weird.

The guy lifts his free hand to Eddie’s face and just… cups his cheek, like they're about to kiss. His palm is damp and cool, like he's been sweating. His skin smells strange—bitter and green, the smell of artichokes out in the fields. And Eddie still can't seem to move, feels almost like he's outside of his own body, watching all of this go down.

 _V? What is…? What?_ he manages.

 _ **It's okay, Eddie,**_ Venom assures him.

Reed’s thumb moves until it's brushing gently over his lower lip. And it's just so bizarre and intimate, but not exactly sexual. Eddie still can't seem to react. He's not even sure if it's because he's in shock or… _what_. Normally, he'd break this guy’s nose for presuming to touch him like this. He breathes in sharply when the doctor’s thumb presses harder against his skin.

The doctor’s eyes have glazed over, grown distant. He says, “ _Oh_ ,” again, like he's figured something out.

Venom also feels like they've just figured something out. Eddie can _feel_ it. He has no idea what, though. Whatever communication is occurring is under, or above, his ability to comprehend, like listening to a conversation in a foreign language.

It feels vaguely like… the mud dream—that's the closest thing that comes to mind. He remembers something that felt like asking. And then acceptance. He can feel the same thing happening now: a question, followed by an answer. _Agreement_.

 _Wait… what?_ he thinks. What the fuck did they just agree to?

And then the doctor drops his hand and Eddie’s blinking stupidly at the back of his white lab coat as he walks away. He’s honestly not sure how much time has passed, feels like he's just waking from a dream that he can only half-remember. His throat is dry. He resists the urge to lick at his lower lip, the spot where the man touched him, wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve instead.

Doctor Reed sits down behind his desk and steeples his hands under his chin, watching them. His eyes are keen in a way they weren't before when he was pretending to be just a friendly country doctor. Now they're almost predatory.

Eddie stands there like an idiot. “What the hell was that?” he whispers under his breath. He's not sure if he's asking Venom or the guy who just violated his personal space.

Reed shakes his head and stirs. “Are you alright, Mr. Brock? You look ill. Let me call my nurse in and—”

“I'm fine.” Eddie takes a stumbling step toward the door. His legs are working again, but they don't feel quite right—almost alien, like his nerves and muscles have been rearranged.

Reed jumps up and comes around to the front of his desk, pushes his hands through his hair, suddenly anxious. “Mr. Brock, please hold on a moment.” He reaches out as if to stop them.

But Eddie’s already at the door. He grabs the handle.

 _ **Eddie, I think we should stay here**_ **,** Venom says.

Eddie shakes his head once, quick. “What? Why would we—?”

Doctor Reed nods, wringing his hands. “Yes, yes, stay, Mr. Brock. Please, sit back down. We should talk.”

“No. No, thanks. I've got to, uh… got to go,” he mumbles.

Reed darts back behind the desk. He’s reaching for the phone, and his hand is shaking as he stabs a button. “Louise, I need some help in here. Hurry! I need—”

Eddie is out the door before he can hear what else the doctor needs.

 

***

 

He shoves through the front doors of the clinic just in time to see some guy strapping his bike down in the back of a flatbed trailer.

“What the fuck?” Eddie only vaguely notes the presence of Ortiz and two uniformed cops as he rushes toward the truck. “Why are you towing me?”

Ortiz catches up to him, throws an arm up in front of him to keep him back. He stops before she can touch him. “Lack of registration,” she says.

“It…” He shakes his head again, feels like the world is tilting under his feet. Nothing makes sense all of a sudden. “ _What?_ ” Sure enough, there's a slightly cleaner spot on his plates where someone must have peeled off the registration stickers. “That's bullshit.”

Ortiz nods, like she agrees with him that this whole thing is, in fact, bullshit. “But I'm going to need you to come with me, Mr. Brock.”

“What? Why? Just give me my bike back and I'll leave. I won't write anything. I've got nothing. You know I've got nothing—you made damn sure of it!” It's the truth. She should be able to feel that.

“I'm afraid it's too late for that.”

Eddie stops and takes a deep breath, tries to unclench his hands. The doctor, and now Ortiz, suddenly don't want him to leave. He just has no idea why. They know they've got him beat. He's not a threat anymore. Murdering him now is just going to bring more people to Mineral Springs. It makes no fucking sense. “What the hell happened to _get out of town_?”

Ortiz holds her hands up and starts walking toward him, steps slow and measured like she's trying not to spook him. “Mr. Brock, _please…_ If you would just come with me. We can sort this out.”

He can't help it—he starts backing away. “You're arresting me this time? Why? For what?”

A look of pain crosses Ortiz’s face. “Just come with me. _Please?_ ”

Eddie takes another step back. “No. No way.” One of the other cops—the shorter one—has circled around behind him. _Fuck_. “I don't, uh… I don't think I want to go anywhere with you… right now.”

Eddie looks around for some way out. There's nowhere to go—the medical building, some offices, fields behind them on one side of the road. On the other side, trees along a creek, oaks and pines creeping up into the hills. He's starting to really appreciate the terrifying height and density of San Francisco right about now. There are no shadows to sink into here.

To his left, the tow-truck driver jumps down from the flatbed and stalks closer. Eddie whips his head around. Tall cop has moved to his other side. He's got his hand on the cuffs at his belt. Doctor Reed and a woman wearing a nurse’s uniform are speed walking toward them from the clinic.

 _Christ_ , there are six people ready to jump him. He's walked right into an ambush.

Ortiz is still talking to him, he realizes. “—just come with us, okay? I promise.” She's taken off one of her gloves and her bare hand is reaching out towards his face. If she touches him, he knows he’ll get stuck again.

Venom is strangely silent in his head, but Eddie can feel the symbiote watching all of this go down with calm interest.

 _V, get ready_ , he thinks. They can't exactly eat the entire Mineral Springs police force—and probably the town’s only doctor and tow-truck driver—but they can run really fucking fast. Faster than these assholes.

Ortiz hears it at the exact moment he thinks it. “He's going to bolt,” she warns.

Tall cop lunges at him and Eddie flings himself sideways out of his range, barreling right into short cop. The guy goes down hard and slides limp across the wet asphalt.

Eddie says, “ _Oh fuck, sorry!_ ” automatically, but in those few seconds Ortiz catches up to him and grabs his arm. He yanks hard and her hand slips off onto the sleeve of his jacket. She grabs on tight with both hands and pulls.

“Mr. Brock, _stop!_ ” It sounds like more than a simple command—he can hear her words echoing in his head, louder than they should be.

He spins around quick, sliding his arm out of the sleeve, leaving Ortiz standing there, holding his empty jacket. And then he's sprinting across the street, toward the hills. There's nowhere else to go.

Eddie crashes through the bushes down the embankment and leaps across the creek. He's scrambling up the muddy bank as soon as his feet hit the ground, clothes and skin catching on brambles, and then he’s racing up into the trees on the far side, faster than any normal human has a right to be. He can hear Ortiz shouting orders behind him, the sound of many people splashing through the water, but he doesn't dare look back.

Eddie keeps running until they’re well away from the road, far up into the forest. They can't hear or smell any people out here, just animals—insects, deer, mice, birds.

 ** _Food,_** Venom thinks.

And under the smell of life, the smell of death—old rotting leaves, dead wood, decaying flesh, fungi and bacteria feeding on it all, returning everything that once lived to the soil.

They stop under an ancient live oak, its branches spreading out like dark arms against the sky. Eddie swings up easily and then climbs higher to a larger branch jutting out from the massive trunk, tucks himself in against a hollow in the moss-covered wood, breathing hard but not really winded. A quick glance over the edge confirms they're about twenty feet off the ground, which isn’t so bad—he can handle that. Eddie shuts his eyes and tries to think.

“What the hell, man? A little help, maybe?” He's already mostly recovered from their mad dash up the hill and into the tree, but he's still a little shocked at Ortiz’s sudden turn to the dark side, the doctor’s completely bizarre behavior. And Venom’s never been this shy before when someone’s threatened them. He feels like the only sane person left in this place. “Why didn't you come out back there?”

_**You said never do that. We need to stay secret. You said they'd catch us and take us back to the Life Foundation.** _

“I thought we agreed to make an exception when people are trying to fucking kill us! These people are trying to kill us, V!”

 _ **They aren't trying to kill us.**_ Venom’s voice is chiding.

“Yes, they are!” he hisses.

_**They have literally not tried to kill us, Eddie. Stop being so dramatic.** _

_What the hell!_ “Are we really going to argue about the word _literally_ right now? All signs point to attempted murder by cop. I don't know how much more evidence you need. These people are bad, V.”

_**Then why didn't they just shoot you?** _

Eddie opens his mouth and then shuts it. He's actually been wondering that, himself, but he's not going to give Venom the satisfaction of admitting it's bothering him. Because, yeah, why didn't they just shoot him? Ortiz thinks Venom is a voice in his head, and he's just a crazy reporter. They can't know bullets won't hurt them. The easiest thing would be to kill him as quickly as possible. And if the whole town’s in on it, they wouldn't even have to cover up a murder, could just gun him down in the street.

None of this makes any sense. And he needs to think.

His boots are full of water, so he carefully braces himself against the tree and pulls them off, his wet socks, too. Venom has no trouble passing through his clothes, but the soles of his shoes must be impenetrable to their matter. As soon as they're off, he feels much more secure on their perch, like his feet could stick to anything. He digs his toes into the soft moss under their feet.

 _ **Better,**_ Venom agrees.

Eddie ties the laces together and hangs his shoes on a branch.

“What's going on here, V? I’m pretty sure you know something and you're not—”

He's interrupted by the sharp crack of a twig breaking, then rustling, from somewhere down the slope. Eddie goes still and quiet as the sounds come nearer, pressing himself closer to the rough bark of the trunk. He can hear Ortiz, he thinks, talking, the crackle of a radio, and a few other people with her, branches snapping as they stomp through the underbrush. The group is oddly, eerily silent as they move along below.

Eddie guesses they're mostly using telepathy to communicate. Hopefully, the radio means they have a maximum range where it won't work

 _Fuck_ , if they get close enough, he has no doubts they’d be able to hear his thoughts. But trying not to think thoughts seems like the ultimate paradox. Eddie shuts his eyes, slows his breathing down. He's invisible, part of the forest. He’s moss. He's a tree. Eddie tucks his head down next to his shoulder and tries to think tree thoughts. What the hell do trees think about anyway? He was always a city kid.

_**Trees don't think about anything.** _

“ _Shhh…_ ”

_**I'm in your head. They can't hear me.** _

“Yes, they actually fucking can hear you.” Good to know he's not the only dumbass up in this tree.

Venom grumbles in irritation. _**Doesn't matter. These people won't hurt us.**_

“How do you know that?” he whispers.

_**Just do.** _

Eddie wants to argue, but he just shakes his head, instead. He can't get worked up right now. And Venom needs to shut the hell up.

He finally relaxes when the group moves away back down the slope. They wait a few more minutes, listening, until silence has fallen over the forest again. “What now, V?” Eddie asks. He's all out of ideas.

 _ **Hmm, maybe… Let me drive.**_ Black flows out of his skin and covers him up completely.

 

***

 

They end up back at the Mineral Springs Lodge, high up in one of the tall pines in front of the building. Eddie’s not sure exactly why they're here. But this is where Venom brought them before slipping back into his body.

There's a police cruiser in the parking lot with a single officer inside. Short cop, he thinks, the guy who got shoved to the ground. He seems fine, and Eddie feels a vague sense of relief that he didn't crack his skull open. He still doesn't want to hurt anyone, even if the guy was probably going to kill him.

They watch from the safety of their tree while the guy sips something from a thermos, talks into his radio occasionally. After about ten minutes, the cop unfolds a newspaper, shakes it out. Looks like he's settling in for the long haul.

It seems safe to stay where they are for now. The guy obviously can't sense them, can't hear them.

Eddie gets more comfortable on their branch, releases the death-grip he has on the wood, shakes one sore hand out then the other. He knows Venom won't let them fall, but still… _fuck_ heights.

“Okay, V. What the fuck is going on here? And what the hell happened back there with the doctor? Talk to me.” Because that was when it all changed— _that_ particular moment. When Ortiz went from _get the fuck out_ to _we’re going to fucking get you_. He's calm enough now to think this through.

_**Not sure. I thought I felt something when he touched us.** _

“Something? Like what?”

Venom is silent for a long time.

“V? Hey, buddy, you there?”

 ** _Yes, Eddie. I'm always here._** Another pause. _**I don't know what I felt.**_

Eddie’s instincts tell him that's a lie. Which… doesn't make sense. Venom’s never exactly lied to him before, even at the beginning, when they were more enemies than friends. He's not sure what this means, doesn't know what to do.

So they stay like that, draped over the tree limb—a dark shape against darker branches—for a long time. Eddie’s never been good at waiting, being still, but Venom is. And the two of them, together, can be very patient. Even in the constant rain, Eddie’s not cold. He's never cold anymore, not with Venom keeping him safe. The water actually feels pretty good on his skin. _Soothing_.

 _No_. He shakes his head once to sort himself out. That's Venom thinking. Not him. The water feels good on _Venom’s_ skin. He just feels wet.

They should go. That's the most sensible thing to do. Between the two of them, it wouldn't take long to get back to the main highway without being detected, then catch a ride back up to the city. He's still got his wallet and one credit card that's not maxed out. He'd really like his bike back, but if—

 _ **The spring,**_ Venom says.

Eddie swallows. “What about it?”

_**We should go down there.** _

“Why?”

_**There's something down there.** _

“What's down there?” Eddie whispers. He feels a weird hum go through him. Excitement. _Their_ excitement. _Fuck_.

_**Something alive.** _

Not a lie, this time, but another half-truth. Eddie can feel it—that vague sense of Venom holding something back. Something big. But the whole truth is that he suddenly _does_ want to go down there, which even he can admit is really fucking dumb. That's nothing new. He's always had a problem with impulse control, according to his old therapist.

He shifts on their branch, digs his claws in until the wood gives a little. “V, you know, like, in a horror movie? When the good guys know some real bad shit is about to go down? And instead of getting the fuck out of town like everyone told them to, they go down into the creepy-ass cave, instead? Well, that's exactly what you're proposing we do right now.”

_**We will be safe, Eddie. This isn't a movie.** _

“Oh, this is definitely not a movie. You’re damn right about that.”

 _ **And, if this was a movie...**_ He can feel Venom grinning, practically feel their teeth slotting together, perfect and lethal. _**We would be the monster.**_

 _Fuck, yeah_ , Eddie thinks.

 

***

 

They wait until nightfall before they drop down from their perch and scale the chain link fence around the pool, Venom covering him, moving smoothly through the shadows flowing over the ground.

The chain on the door to the main pool building is easy to snap. Venom slips back into him, once they're inside. They stand together, listening to the sound of rain on the roof, the wind in the trees outside, spiderwebs brushing softly against the windows.

 _ **That way,**_ Venom says, and points them toward the back of the building

Eddie passes men's and women’s locker rooms, dark and shuttered concession stands, posters about pool safety and rules. They keep moving deeper into the building, through an unlocked door that says _Staff Only._ He turns to the right, toward a battered metal door marked _Machine Room_ , without any prompting from Venom.

_**This is it.** _

_Yes,_ Eddie thinks. Whatever’s in there… he can feel it, too.

The door isn't locked and moves easily on metal hinges. Their sensitive eyes take only a moment to adjust to the darkness. It's very different in here. The walls are made of crude, stacked stone, dripping and green with moisture. No sign of the pipes and pumping machinery Eddie expected to find. Nothing but a hole in the center of the stone floor—maybe three feet across—with a metal ladder disappearing down into darkness.

There's writing carved into the stone wall in front of them: _hic est panis de caelo descendens ut si quis ex ipso manducaverit non moriatur_

“That's in Latin,” Eddie says. He knows he's seen this somewhere before. “Uh… _here is… bread_ , maybe? Caelo is sky, I think…”

_**It's from the Bible, John 6:50. Here is the bread which came down from heaven, so one may eat of it and not die.** _

“How the fuck do you know that?”

_**Because you know it. You took four years of Latin, Eddie.** _

“Well, yeah, but I hardly remember any of that shit.” Most useless waste of time in his mostly useless life so far.

_**It's all still here in your memories.** _

“Huh. Could’ve sworn I wiped that out to make room for sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll.” He walks closer to the hole in the floor. The smell of mineral water is strong here, wafting up from below, but it's too dark to see down more than a foot or two. “That's creepy as fuck,” Eddie mutters.

_**We need to go down there. That's where it is.** _

“Yeah. Kinda already got that figured out. Horror movie, remember?” He resists the urge to ask _where what is?_ because he's pretty sure Venom won't tell him anyway.

Eddie peers over the edge. There's no way to tell from up here, just how far down it goes.

 _ **Come on, Eddie.**_ Venom sounds so impatient, he’s surprised the symbiote hasn't just taken over and thrown them in already.

_**We would not fit.** _

“Got a point there...” He leans down and shakes the ladder to make sure it's actually attached to something. Seems solid. “Yeah, okay.” He's still not sure why they're fucking doing this. Why _he's_ doing this…

It's a tight fit at the top—Eddie's shoulders just brush the stone edges as he squeezes in. He lets out a long breath and starts climbing down.

Eddie knows next to nothing about the geology of California, but he's pretty sure the water table can't be too far down. Eddie keeps moving, trying not to think too much about what they're doing, keeping a tight grip on the rungs as they descend. His fear of heights is actually not too bad if he can't see how far up they are, which is really dumb, he knows.

The passage widens further down, until Eddie can actually crane his head over his shoulder. A few more steps, and he can see the bottom. He steps off the ladder. They're in some kind of tunnel. The walls have obviously been cut out of the rock surrounding them, and then reinforced with more stacked stone and metal girders. It looks like an old mine shaft. The stone floor is smooth and worn, like feet have been passing over it for years. He's forgotten his own shoes, he realizes, and his feet are cool on the wet ground. Eddie can hear dripping from somewhere down the tunnel.

 _ **This way,**_ Venom says.

Despite the lack of any obvious light sources, It's bright in here. Eddie stops and examines one of the walls. Light isn't reflecting off the wet surface, he realizes, the stones are actually glowing. He runs his fingers over the rock—it's wet, too, and softer than it should be, not like rock at all. When he pulls his hand back, the tips of his fingers are glowing slightly.

“V, what is this stuff?”

_**Multicellular fungus. It's bioluminescent.** _

Eddie grunts and wipes his hand on his pants. Weird, but not any weirder than anything else he's seen here. And probably easier than running wires for lights.

They keep walking, following the tunnel as it twists and turns. There are side passages, leading off into the darkness, but Venom never hesitates before choosing a direction. It smells in here—the same grassy, mold smell from their room, only magnified until it's almost overpowering. And, under that, the smell of spring water.

“How much farther?” he whispers. “The springs can't be—”

Eddie turns a blind corner and runs straight into a group of people. People he couldn't hear or smell until just now. Ortiz—he recognizes her right away—in front. Tall cop and Reed behind her, in his bright white lab coat. And the fucking hippy woman who checked him in at the lodge.

“ _Holy shit, what_ —” Eddie manages, and then they're swarming over him and tumbling him to the ground.

 

***

 

He's usually pretty good in a brawl. Moreso, when some asshole underestimates him because he's short. But this isn't a brawl—more like a wild scramble on the ground. He can't get any leverage to actually hit anyone. But no one’s hitting him, either.

The damn doctor is sitting on him. The others are grabbing at his arms and legs, eerily silent as they try to pin him like they're in the world’s quietest wrestling match. The sounds of the struggle and Eddie’s harsh breathing echoing loudly off the walls. Ortiz gets her arm across his neck, pressing him down, cutting off his air. He wonders why she doesn't just pull her gun out and shoot him if they want him dead so badly.

_**They don't want you dead, Eddie.** _

_What the hell?_ he thinks. _Do something!_

“Mr. Brock, just—” Ortiz grabs at his head. Her palm is cool and damp against his hot skin.

He can _feel_ her. All of them, maybe. The same weird whispering is back in his head, and he can understand it now. They're telling him to stop, that everything’s going to be okay if he just gives up.

“ _Get the fuck off me!_ ” Eddie whips his head back, smacking it painfully on the ground, trying to get Ortiz to let go, get them out of his brain. This shouldn't even be a fight, though. “ _V!_ ” he pants. “Come on! Help me out here.”

He manages to twist his arm out of somebody’s sweaty grip, but when he draws back to punch the doctor in the face, his arm just stops, suddenly frozen. He can't even make a fist. It takes Eddie a second or two to recognize that it's not _them_ doing it this time. It's Venom controlling him. In those few seconds, the assholes attacking him have realized their mistake and grab his arm again.

He's so shocked, he lets the whole group pile on top of him.

“V, you dick! You fucking parasite! _What the fuck!_ ” And now his legs and arms are pinned. That's it—the fight’s over.

Venom says, _**Eddie**_ , in a low, soothing voice at the same moment the doctor says, “Just relax, Mr. Brock. Everything's going to be fine.”

And— _oh shit!_ —he's pulling out a needle and getting ready to stab him with it. Because their damn mind control trick didn't work. Eddie struggles harder, but it's no use—not with four people sitting on him and Venom apparently on their side. He's fucking trapped.

Reed says, “hold him still,” and stabs him in the back of the arm.

He thrashes wildly, yells curses that echo off the walls, but it's already too late. A few seconds later, he's woozy, sore head lolling against the ground. And then he’s peaceful in a way he knows he absolutely should not be right now. Fucking thorazine, or some shit… Ortiz and the doctor and the other two assholes finally climb off of him, but he's too tired and heavy to make a move.

The doctor leans over and shines a bright light in one eye and then the other. Eddie just blinks up at him. He nods once, apparently satisfied with what he's seen.

There's more whispering, and the four of them exchange a whole lot of meaningful glances over his prone body. Eddie can't really worry too much about that. His damn parasite, though...

“V? What the hell, man?” he mumbles.

_**All part of the plan, Eddie.** _

He should be annoyed at how fucking smug Venom sounds, but even that slips away from him. He can't be bothered to care about anything really. Good fucking drugs…

Ortiz’s face suddenly looms in close over him. Her dark hair’s been pulled out of the neat ponytail during the fight. The loose strands are curling in the damp air. Eddie thinks she looks better like that—a little softer. Not at all like someone who’s about to fucking kill him.

She gives him a sad smile. “Mr. Brock, I am so, so sorry. I was really hoping it wouldn't come to this.” She actually really means that. He knows because he can _feel_ it with almost the same certainty he feels Venom’s emotions. “But I promise you’ll feel better soon. Everything will be okay. We can fix you. And you’ll never be alone again.” She reaches out and rests her hand on his head for a moment.

 _I'm sorry_ , _Eddie_ , she says again, but this time her mouth doesn't move. And Eddie’s too fucked up to be surprised he can hear her thoughts. Or that she actually used his name for once.

“I’m not… alone,” he manages. But she’s already moving out of his field of vision and they're grabbing his legs and shoulders and lifting him up, and then he's being carried somewhere.

Deeper into the cavern, he thinks. The mineral smell of the water is getting stronger, the air damper. It's much cooler down here. He can feel Venom getting more excited the further they go, like his fucking traitor of a symbiote is looking forward to getting murdered.

They finally come to a larger chamber, walls fading deeper into darkness than he can see. This must be the main spring. Eddie can hear the constant echo of dripping, flowing water. His captors set him down gently next to the edge. He turns his head blearily and stares at the dark pool. It smells like the bath he took with Venom—metallic and sharp, rusty.

 _Blood_ , he realizes, _it smells exactly like fresh blood_.

And then they start taking his clothes off, which seems a little unnecessary at this point. A grimace passes over Ortiz’s face as she reaches for his belt. “I'm so sorry about this, Mr. Brock. But clothes don't decompose quickly and they can block the source of the spring.”

“‘S okay,” he mumbles. Because that makes sense in an odd kind of way he can get behind—wouldn't want to wreck the environment with his rotting corpse. And it doesn't matter now, anyway. If they're going to kill him, they might as well strip him first.

In just a few minutes he's completely naked, skin pressed against cool, wet stones. Tall cop stuffs his clothes into a garbage bag. Eddie can't even get pissed when they pull off his bracelets and necklaces. Ortiz is gentle with him, setting his head back down softly. She stops and stares down at the cross in her hand for a long moment, blinking hard, before tucking it carefully into the bag with the rest of his things. He gets the sense that they've done this before, but maybe not quite like this.

The four of them are absolutely silent as they lift him and step into the water. They’re using telepathy to talk again. He can hear them, their voices low, like whispering from another room, but it's just out of his reach. Not meant for him to hear. There's more splashing as they move deeper. And then they’re lowering him gently into the water. It's not too cold, and he doesn't seem to be able to shiver anyway.

The water closes over his body and Venom practically thrums in anticipation, sends diffuse tendrils out through his skin, into the water around them, melting into liquid, seeking…

And now something’s happening to him, too. Eddie takes a deep, shuddering breath as his edges start to unravel.

_**Eddie, we’ll be fine. I promise. Would never let anything happen to you. We’ve been invited.** _

_That makes no sense_ , he thinks. But he feels oddly at peace with everything, even the looming reality of his death. The water feels good around him, despite the fact that they're fucking dissolving right now. Selenium leaking into their cells, maybe, getting him high as fuck. He doesn't even care anymore that Venom’s doing nothing to help him, to help _them_. It's probably the drugs, he figures.

Ortiz’s solemn eyes are the last thing he sees as their hands push him down under the dark surface.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thanks for coming along on this ride with me. I had a fun time. Hope you did, too :)

He doesn't drown, of course. Water can't kill him anymore. Can't kill _them_.

He becomes aware slowly that he's also still in one piece, floating on his back. He flexes his fingers and toes to make sure. They all still seem to work. Whatever he'd felt before—that sense of dissolving, falling apart—must have been a hallucination. Or something Venom was feeling. _Or…_ if it did really happen, he's better now.

He realizes he's resting against the bottom of the pool—there's hard stone at his back. His arms and legs are floating. He's sluggish, but peaceful. He feels… pretty damn good, like he could stay down here indefinitely.

He’s aware of Venom breathing for both of them, black filaments in the water, gently waving, spread out as thin as spider’s silk, enough to facilitate gas exchange. Oxygen diffusing in, and carbon dioxide out, just enough to maintain their slowed metabolism. The back of his throat is closed up to keep water from leaking down into his paralyzed lungs. His eyes are open, but it's too dark to see anything down here, even with Venom’s help.

He closes his eyes and drifts for a while.

Eventually, there's light from somewhere. Maybe that's what woke him up again? Eddie turns his head, trying to see. Bluish-greenish light, shifting with the water across his face, getting brighter.

 _What?_ he thinks.

Venom doesn't answer with words, but Eddie can feel… reassurance. A promise that they're safe here.

The light grows even brighter, and now he can see where it's coming from. A huge glowing mass, drifting closer in the water above them. It has no shape, moves like a school of fish in slow motion, sparkling and flashing as it approaches. He watches as one of Venom's dark tentacles reaches out, reminding him of staring up through branches at a blue sky. Eddie feels the exact moment they make contact with the bright thing. It hits him in a jangled rush of sensation and he flails in the water.

He can't process anything at first—it feels like random bursts of feedback reverberating through his brain, his nerves. Then the cacophony in his head shifts until he can recognize a pattern. A flare of signals from Venom, some from his own body, followed by a slower, lower response from the bright thing. Then Venom again.

They're talking, Eddie realizes.

They've abandoned human language completely, in favor of something simpler and far faster. Pure information passing in the exchange of chemical signals, complex molecules forming and degrading, faster than he can process it, enzymes binding to receptors and opening ion channels. Electric charges flowing across membranes, flashing like lightning through clouds.

_Recognition. Asking. Agreement._

It's too simple. Too fast. Eddie fights against the easy acceptance. He needs more. He needs to understand. He's not like Venom—he's still human.

He tries to move, but his muscles are weak. He can't manage more than a few half-hearted kicks. Even that feeble effort tires him out.

**_We are fine, Eddie. Trust me._**

Soothing messages from the bright thing surrounding them. He can feel them pouring into him through Venom. The flood of information slows until it's not overwhelming. Despite everything, Eddie relaxes. And then, finally, a different voice in his head, halting and slow:

**_You…_ **

It sounds almost like Venom’s voice, but it's not. He can feel Venom translating for him, though, changing the chemical messages into words he can understand. _**You were… seeking us. You have found us.**_

Eddie pulls his scattered thoughts together enough to manage, _David Gorman?_ It's hard to remember much of anything right now, but that’s why he was here, right?

There's a long pause, more complex messages exchanged, then, **_We have no name. Not here._** _ **We… are many. But… Yes. That was our name… one of our names… before.**_

Now that he's found the person they came here to find, someone he didn't expect to find alive at all, Eddie doesn't know what to ask. Or even _how_ to ask when he's like this. There is, maybe, only one thing that really matters. The simplest thing.

 _Are you..._ _happy?_

No words come back this time. But he feels a flood of simple and profound emotions pouring into him through his connection to Venom: contentment, safety, satisfaction, acceptance, welcome, and happiness.

Good enough. Whatever David Gorman is now, whatever part of him is left here, he's happy. There's more Eddie wants to know— _so much more_ —but his brain isn't cooperating. 

 _Why...?_ The words don't want to come, slipping away before he can put them in the right order. He has to stop and try again. _Why_...  _bring us here?_

**_You… made an agreement with us. You promised us._ **

_What promise? Eddie thinks._

Venom speaks to him again. _**I promised we would help them. You said we should. You said if someone needs help and we can help them, that the right thing to do is to help.**_

 _Okay_ , Eddie thinks. He might’ve said that at some point. That sounds like something they should do. He's just… not sure _how_ they can help, or even _what_ needs to be done. He's honestly not sure about anything right now.

Venom can feel his confusion. **_Your brain function is slower because I've decreased our metabolic rate to conserve energy._** ** _Don’t worry, Eddie. I know what we need to do._**

There's another rapid-fire string of messages that Eddie can't follow and then the light touches him. On his arm first, flowing up over his shoulder. It feels cool—he breaks out into goosebumps all over. There's a strange prickling sensation, almost like the first hot touch of the tattoo needle to his skin, before it fades. He can feel the thing moving, surrounding him—more viscous than water, but not quite like Venom’s touch. He doesn't panic when it sinks into him because Venom is here with him. And, after that, he feels nothing for a long time.

Eddie closes his eyes again and drifts.

 

***

 

He wakes up freezing, floating face-down in the water, suddenly desperate for air. He starts to panic, jerks his head up, sucks in a breath, and immediately starts choking.

_Oh shit, he's fucking drowning!_

He flails wildly for a second or two, splashing and clawing at the water, forgetting everything he knows about how to swim, until his hand hits rock. He grabs on and hauls his head out of the water, gasps in another breath and starts coughing, vomiting water out of his lungs. Other than the sound of his hacking and gagging echoing off the walls of the cave, it's quiet.

Too quiet…

“V? _Venom?!_ ” he rasps when he can finally breathe again.

 _Oh, fuck!_ It's the night of the rocket explosion all over again. He's struggling in the water and there's a horrible, devastating silence in his head where Venom should be. And— _oh, God!_ —he's so fucking cold! He shouldn't be this cold, not with V around to keep him warm, which has to mean…

He pulls himself up onto the ledge, shivering and sputtering, coughs more water out. “Venom! I'm sorry… I'm sorry I called you… parasite. Please, come back. I'm—”

_**I'm here, Eddie. Just tired. We haven't eaten anything in a while.** _

Eddie sinks down onto the rocks. “ _Oh, fuck, fuck!_ Thank god,” he gasps. Venom’s okay. He's not alone. He's naked and wet and cold as shit, but he's not alone.

“How long?” he asks, because he's never been this hungry before. Never felt as desperate for food as he does right now, even when Venom was eating his organs.

_**Hmmm… Forty-five hours.** _

“Two fucking days!” he gasps out, hacks again and spits. “We were down there for… two fucking days!” He can't quite believe it because that literally felt like fifteen minutes.

_**We were down there for forty-five hours. That's not literally two days.** _

“Shut up,” he moans, because Venom always wants to argue about the dumbest shit in the middle of a crisis. And then he remembers…

He lifts his head enough to look back at the water, but the spring is dark and still again, ripples fading out on the surface.

“What the fuck... was that thing in the water?” He's really shivering now and his teeth are chattering almost too hard to get the words out. V must really be tired. They're never this cold anymore, not together.

_**A living organism.** _

“No shit.” He drags himself further from the edge of the water, flops over onto his back. He doesn't think he can get up right now. He feels sick and weak, dizzy. Running on empty. Fucking starving. “How were you… talking to it?”

_**It is a Klyntar cousin. We are distant relatives, separated by millions of years of evolution, but still similar enough to talk, as you put it, using basic chemical messages.** _

“You mean it's—it’s from space?”

_**Yes. It is alien to this world.** _

“But it lives in these people? Like you—like the Klyntar do?”

He can feel Venom thinking it over. _**No. They are not obligate symbiotes like the Klyntar. This is a free-living organism, composed of many cells working collectively. It needs to stay in water with this particular chemical composition to survive.**_

“Then why the fuck is it inside _me_ right now?” Because— _God dammit!_ —he can feel _something_ in there. Something that's not Venom, and certainly isn't him.

_**Eddie—** _

Whatever Venom was going to say is interrupted by the sound of many feet echoing down the stone tunnel.

Eddie tries to drag himself up off the ground, but he just can't. His arms keep slipping out from under him, like he's made of rubber. “ _Fuck_ , V, what's—”

 _ **I told them to come,**_ Venom says, _**because we need their help,**_ and boils out of him. They surge up to their full height.

The first person who comes around the corner points a shotgun at them. Eddie can hear him almost before he can see him, a constant litany of _oh shit oh shit oh shit_  running through the guy's head. Tall cop. He looks fucking delicious. He smells even more delicious, like adrenaline and hot blood. _Fuck_. If Venom decides to eat this guy, Eddie's not sure he could stop them right now. He's not sure he’d _want_ to stop.

Venom growls a warning. But they're weak—both of them. Eddie doesn't feel like they can do much more. A shotgun blast might even hurt right now. They are so hungry. _So hungry…_

Fortunately, the next person to come around the corner is Ortiz. She freezes when she sees them, eyes going wide, but then she steps out in front of tall cop.

Ortiz puts her arm out and pushes the barrel of the gun down. “Jack, don't shoot him,” she says quietly. She seems strangely calm for a person meeting a huge goo monster in a dark cave.

She takes another cautious step closer, cocks her head to the side, listening. “Mr. Brock? Eddie?”

The voice that comes out of their mouth is Venom’s. _**“**_ **Yes. It's us.”**

“You're real,” she says, almost in a whisper. _Real_ , her mind echoes.

**“Yes, we are real. We’ve done what you wanted, what you have asked for. And now we are very, very, _very_ hungry. If you don't want us to eat you, you should give us food. Soon.”**

 

***

 

Ten minutes later, he's wearing clothes again—not his clothes, though—and he's wrapped in a blanket, still shivering, still shaking with hunger, shoveling food into his mouth in the empty coffee shop.

Chief Ortiz is sitting across from him, pushing her own midnight breakfast around on her plate with a fork. At least she has the decency to look guilty. _Feel_ guilty, too, which Eddie is trying and mostly failing to get used to. Because it's weird as fuck that he can read minds now.

Now that he's gotten over the shock of waking up and almost drowning, he’s pissed at her. And he's pissed at Venom, too. And if he wasn't so fucking hungry and cold and confused right now, he'd be even more pissed off.

He barely knows Ortiz, but Venom is pretty much his best friend and, maybe something more, after the last few days... He doesn't think it's unreasonable to feel betrayed.

“You couldn't just fucking tell me?” he demands between bites of food.

He can feel Venom squirming uncomfortably somewhere inside, taking up less space than they usually do, small and meek. _**You would have said no.**_

“You don't know that!”

_**I know you, Eddie.** _

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Okay, new policy. Just tell me, okay? Like, how hard is that?” He picks up his glass of chemical water and downs the whole thing. His third so far since they sat down. It tastes fucking delicious now, which is also Venom’s fault. “My body is not a damn alien airbnb, okay? If you're gonna invite guests over, you need to ask me first. That's just, like, common fucking courtesy, man.”

 _ **Temporary guests**_ , Venom grumps. _**They just need a ride somewhere. And it's our body, Eddie. We share everything now.**_

“Fine, whatever. If I ever decide to invite someone into _our_ body, I'll ask you first, too. Like that's ever gonna fucking happen again...” They can talk about it later. Right now, he's too fucking hungry to debate the finer points of sharing a body with a bunch of parasitic aliens. _Fuck_ , if he's eating for three or more—he's not sure how many are in there, exactly—that's going to seriously impact his savings. He’ll need to revise their food budget.

“When did you know what it wanted?”

_**When Doctor Dickhead touched us. We had a… talk about it. We communicated.** _

“ _And?_ ” Eddie demands.

**_It asked for help. And we came to an agreement. None of the humans here are suitable as hosts to disperse the reproductive cells. It can only extend its biomass safely into these people while they are close to the water source. It could not use them to transport the cells to a new home._ **

“But I can, right? For some reason I can carry them to a new home?”

_**Yes, Eddie. Your particular biochemical configuration provides a safe and stable environment. You're perfect. Perfect for us.** _

“That's one thing, huh? One damn thing I'm good at—being a host. I should start charging rent or something.”

Ortiz is staring at him when he meets her eyes. He can't really blame her—Eddie knows she's been eavesdropping on his conversation with Venom. He can fucking _feel_ her listening, which is also irritating. He's still pissed off about his laptop. And he can't get over the fact that she was ready to fucking murder him. “You thought that thing was gonna eat me, didn't you?”

“I… _Shit_.” She drops her head into her hands. “I'm so sorry, Mr. Brock. _Eddie_. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting our people, our way of life here. Our town.” She shakes her head. “It just… _wanted you_. And none of us really knew why. It doesn't communicate like that with us. Like the way you talk with… with Venom. Not with words, just desires. And it really wanted us to bring you down there. Alive. I was hoping that meant it was going to cure your schizophrenia, but I assumed it meant”—she gestures at his nearly empty plate of food—”you know.”

“I'm not schizophrenic.”

“I can see that now. But you know your story was crazy, right?”

“This whole place is crazy,” he mutters. Because a lot of stuff still makes no sense. “Why not just kill Irene Gorman? Feed her to the monster?”

The look of offense on Ortiz’s face is echoed in Venom’s voice. _**It's not a monster, Eddie!**_

She holds up a finger at him. “First, your friend is right—it's not a monster. And second… Irene is family. She’s troubled, yes, and a pain in my ass. But she's still family. We wouldn't do that to her. Not without her permission.”

“But it's okay to feed me to your…” apparently the word _monster_ is off-limits, “to whatever that thing is?”

The corner of Ortiz’s mouth quirks up. “Well, you _are_ a reporter.”

That's almost funny. Eddie manages not to smile, though.

“Look,” Ortiz says, serious again. “We’ve been throwing around the word _eat_ , but it doesn't eat people. Not in the way you mean. Their bodies, their cells, become part of it, part of the collective being, part of all of us. I know you felt that when you were down there, because _I_ could feel it. We all could.”

Eddie chews for a second, then nods reluctantly. “David Gorman. He chose to go with it, didn't he?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She shrugs. “He was really, really old. Like many of us here.” She gives him a sly smile. “And he’s lived in Mineral Springs for a very long time. He was ready for something else. To experience a new way of existing.”

Eddie thinks about that—how he’d felt when he and Venom had been together, sharing everything. He's not sure if he's ready for that full-time, but it had certainly been interesting. Enlightening. More than Mrs. Chen’s cousin’s bullshit meditation crap, anyway.

“And the others, too? The ones who are missing?”

“They’re not missing to us. We feel them every day. They're always with us. They're part of us.”

“Is that…?” He glances over at the server and the cook who've been hanging back by the kitchen, watching them talk. “Do you guys all share the same mind or something?”

Ortiz shakes her head, smiling faintly. “No. Not quite. We are all… connected. All the time. But those of us who haven't joined with it yet are still separate people.”

“ _It?_ The thing down there doesn't have a name?”

“No. And I don't know what it is. We don't ever discuss it with people from the outside. Not really even with each other. We just… _think_ about it. We just _know_.”

Eddie nods. Whatever was down there wasn't big on conversation. He can remember that much. “I don't think it's one individual,” he says. “It felt…” _Vast_ is the best word he can think of. _Unfocused_.

“Yes,” Ortiz agrees. “Unfocused. That's a good way to think about it. It has no personality of its own, the way we do. The way your friend does. It _is_ intelligent, but not in the way humans are. We depend on each other. We—the people here—we protect it, provide for it. And, in return, it heals us, gives us life.”

“Venom—my, uh, my friend—they say it's an alien.”

“Then _Venom_ is probably right.” Ortiz is smirking. _That's an interesting name. Did you choose it?_

Eddie realizes she's asking Venom.

**_Yes. It is the human word that comes closest to the meaning of my… true name._ **

_Do you know what lives in the spring? What it is?_ Ortiz is staring at him, but not talking to him. It's weird.

_**An alien organism. It has no Earth equivalent. But it resembles the detritivores found on this planet. It performs the same function in the environment, feeding on dead and decaying organic matter.** _

Ortiz nods.

“So… it's a giant mushroom,” Eddie says.

They both give him a _look_. Though Venom’s look is really more of a feeling.

“What? It's true, right?”

_**A mushroom is merely the reproductive structure of a fungus.** _

“Whatever, V.” At least now he knows what Venom’s been googling on his phone. 

Eddie stares at Ortiz while he stuffs another huge bite of omelette in his mouth. Chews for a moment before asking, “How many other people have you shoved into the spring? Anyone who’s ever asked too many questions? Anyone who got in your way?”

Ortiz flinches a little, but she keeps her gaze steady. “They were already dead when they went into the spring. We haven't…” She swallows. “We haven't done that in a long time. And only as a last resort. We don't… do that anymore.”

“Except last night,” Eddie says. He's not ready to forgive her yet for the whole attempted murder by alien fungus thing.

“Wouldn't you kill to protect yourself, Mr. Brock? The people you love?”

Eddie swallows and looks away. He _has_ killed to protect himself, of course. To protect the people he loves. He supposes he deserves the same scrutiny. Because, when it comes down to it, is he really so much better?

“Just think about it,” Ortiz says, “before you pass judgment on us.”

He _will_ think about it, but right now he mostly wants to think about eating. He eats and eats until his guts must be bursting and he still feels hungry. And people keep bringing him more food without any prompting. Maybe Ortiz is silently telling them to do it. Or maybe everyone within a two-mile radius can feel how damn hungry he is.

By the time the sky starts to lighten outside, Eddie’s feeling slightly less hollowed out. Venom is sated, too, warm and content inside him. The weird alien cells have finally shut up—stopped their desperate clamoring for _more, more, more._ The mineral water is helping. He's exhausted, though, now that he's not hungry, feels like he could just pass out right here, face-down in his half-eaten plate of hash browns.

Ortiz looks as tired as he feels, blinking at him over her coffee cup.

They need to get back to the city, he thinks. It's been almost three days since they dumped his phone. Who knows how many times Anne’s tried to call him since then? She’s probably close to panicking by now, ready to send someone down here to look for him, if she hasn't already. She's got, like, scary lawyer connections. And _that_ is something he can't deal with right now. He can decide what to do about all the damn aliens in his body once he's got his own life under control again.

“You can't go yet,” Ortiz says.

 _Fuck_. Eddie's too tired for this shit. He clutches at his head, mumbles, “Please, don't turn evil again. I really don't wanna eat you.”

 **We are too full right now,**  Venom helpfully adds.

She holds her hands up. “I'm not… turning evil again. I promise. But it's going to be hard for you out there while you're like this.”

“Like what?” Eddie glances down at himself, toward his middle, where he imagines the hitchhikers are hanging out. _Oh, fuck, what if…?_ He has a sudden, terrible vision of them growing inside him and then bursting out in a shower of guts and blood.

“No, that's… not what I meant.” He can see Ortiz is trying really hard to suppress a smile.

“Shut up,” Eddie mutters.

“Sorry. I just meant while you can hear people’s thoughts. You're not used to it yet, and it can be really”—she frowns—”disorienting.”

“Why? I’m sitting here, talking to you and it's not too bad.” Just a little bad.

“That's because I'm shielding right now.”

“You’re what?”

“I'm… stopping my thoughts from reaching you. All of us who live here, we learn to shield and block. To keep our own thoughts from being broadcast, to keep the thoughts of others out. It's useful if you ever want to have a private thought. Or leave town and be around other people.

“If I stop shielding, you'll be able to hear everything, like _how sorry I am for what happened last night, what we did, what I did, didn't want to do it, but we want what it wants, it keeps us safe here, still sorry, sometimes I hate my job, please believe me, you know I really do like you, Mr. Brock—Eddie—remind me so much of Sam sometimes, the way you think in circles, it's scary, scary how much I love her, would do anything for her, kill for her, please understand, I know you do because—_

“ _Fuck_ ,” Eddie says, and then it's suddenly quiet again, the whole world muffled. He has his hands over his ears, he realizes.

Ortiz gives him a pained smile. “See what I mean?”

He gestures at his head. “Is this permanent?” Because that would really, really suck.

“No. It should fade. A few days after you leave, I think. But those few days are going to be rough. Trust me.”

“I'll be okay. We need to get back.” He has a life—sort of—and a job. Maybe?

She looks like she wants to protest, tell him he's an idiot—he can feel it perched there, on the tip of her tongue, waiting to get out—but she just nods, instead. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he agrees. _We’ll be fine,_ he thinks, really concentrating on the words. _All of us._

Ortiz grins at him. _I know you will._

Eddie nods. And that's more than enough telepathy for now. “Tell me one thing? How old are you? Really?”

“That's still a rude question, Mr. Brock.”

“C’mon. You owe me.”

She bites her lip for a second before setting down her coffee mug in a deliberate way. “Did you know we used to have a mission in this valley, Mr. Brock?”

“Yeah.”

“It's gone now, of course. It's been gone for a long time. Burnt down only a few years after it was founded.” She smiles at him, but it's a bitter thing. “The priests there were rigid, close-minded men. Men who couldn't imagine for one second that they did not know what was best for the people who had lived here for a thousand years. Let’s just say… this valley was not the place for men like that. And I was there to watch them burn.”

 

***

 

Ortiz is right, of course. His first few days back in the city are a fucking disaster.

There are people everywhere and Eddie can hear all of them thinking. All the time. It's like a cacophony of talking, singing, screaming, crying, ranting in his head on an endless loop that he can't stop. So much worse than Ortiz’s demonstration because everyone is shouting so loudly that he can't hear Venom or even his own thoughts. Just every horrible and random thing that people keep hidden. He's lost. After two disastrous trips out to the grocery store and a pharmacy, stumbling around like a drunk because he's so confused, letting Venom drive his body around and do all the shopping, he decides to just stay in his apartment.

It's quieter up here, away from the street, even if he can still hear his closest neighbors. They're not so bad. The dick next door was loud as fuck anyway, and he always has some shitty metal trash song stuck in his head so it's not really all that different now. The woman above him works a lot, so she's mostly not home, and when she is she's just thinking about what she's watching on TV, or how she's going to afford the next month’s rent, or what she's going to make for dinner. Stuff that doesn't freak him out.

Mrs. Chen is okay, too. She thinks in Mandarin—quick and loud, but utterly incomprehensible to Eddie, sometimes interspersed with random English words, sometimes his name, but that's not too bad. He doesn't care if she's thinking about him, as long as he doesn't know what she's thinking. It's pretty much exactly like every other time he comes into her shop.

He begs off seeing Anne and Dan, lies and says he's come down with a bad cold, because being near them would be just the worst.

When it all becomes unbearable, he curls up in bed under a pillow with Venom around him, petting, soothing, holding him together, letting the symbiote's deep, familiar voice drown out the chorus in his head. He clings to the promise Ortiz made that this will eventually stop. It has to. Because the only alternative he can see is to go back to Mineral Springs and live there forever. And he's just not cut out to be a farmer.

By day three, the telepathy is finally starting to fade. By day four, he can go out again and buy some actual, real food instead of the crap Venom likes, because the voices have receded to whispering. Loud whispering, but it's all good. He can pretend it's just more city noise.

By the fifth day, he’s back to normal. _Relatively normal,_ he supposes. Because now the only thing he has to worry about are the alien trespassers currently living in his guts.

 

***

 

_**Just get in the water, Eddie.** _

He looks around. At the dark shapes of pines around them, the bright sky above, sprinkled with a million glittering stars. The Milky Way is almost too intense for their sensitive eyes, like staring into the sun.

They're sitting on a boulder at the edge of the tiny, clear spring. They rode up here yesterday, hiked further into the mountains with Venom guiding them, slept in a little hollow under a pine tree during the heat of the afternoon, ate a whole deer when they woke. They haven't seen another person yet. They're utterly alone, but Eddie still feels self-conscious.

Even in the middle of July, it's chilly way up here in the Sierras at night. And he's not wearing any clothes. He rubs at his arms. He's not really cold, but the wind stirring the hair on his body is making him shiver. “You sure this thing won't hurt anyone? I mean… they were going to feed me to it back in Mineral Springs. They've killed people to keep it a secret.” It's a token protest, he knows. They're already here, after all.

 _ **Humans made those decisions, Eddie**_ , Venom points out. _**The organism won't hurt anyone. It only incorporates unnecessary cells. Or what's offered freely. Tumors. Flesh that is already dead. It heals. It's not dangerous. It has probably been on this planet for longer than your species has existed. It has every right to be here. We've already talked about this.**_

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie mumbles.

They _have_ talked about this—where to take the cells. Ortiz and some of the others from Mineral Springs suggested this place. They know a lot more about the geology of California than Eddie ever will—where all the underground springs with the right concentrations of minerals are. Personal investment and all, he figures. This particular, nameless spring is in a designated wilderness area. If things go according to plan, there will never be people living here, or roads going through. The creature, alien— _whatever_ —should be safe.

**_This planet is my home now, too. I wouldn't wreck it. I like it here._ **

“I know that, V.” He inches down the rock and sticks a foot in the water, shudders. It's not _that_ cold.

Eddie can feel their guests—the nameless cells inside him—quiver in something close to anticipation. It’s probably the most complex idea they've ever articulated. They aren't at all like Venom, Eddie’s found. More like having a small, demanding pet living inside his body.

There were too few of them, Venom explained, to be intelligent. The organism in the spring relied on vast numbers of cells working together as a collective to achieve consciousness, or something close to it. The cells inside Eddie were just drones, reproductive cells, specialized for dispersal, meant to travel to a new habitat. Their ‘thoughts’ were always simple and straightforward demands: _food, rest, minerals._

Always with the damn minerals... Eddie’s already spent a small fortune on supplements since their trip. Whatever money they'd managed to scrape together in the last few months is already gone. It really was too bad these fuckers couldn't pay rent.

He'd ended up writing an article about Mineral Springs half out of spite, and half so he could claim their travel expenses on his taxes. Some piece about the environmental and social impacts of the artichoke industry—a crop that took up valuable farmland and was only consumed by the most privileged in society. A crop that generated a phenomenal amount of bio waste for the small amount of food produced per plant. It was actually pretty popular for a while, even got picked up by some of the bigger sites.

The story wasn't what he'd envisioned, obviously, but that couldn't be helped.

Eddie slides off the rock into the water. “ _Shit…_ ” He sucks in a breath and hops a little. _Now_ it feels a little cold, now that he's chest-deep in it.

Venom makes a groaning, satisfied sound and starts spooling out of him.

Eddie decides it's not so bad after a few seconds’ adjustment. He chuckles. “Like that, huh?” He feels it, too, of course. It feels like he's sinking down into a shallow sea, gentle waves lapping against him, welcoming him home.

_**Oh, yes.** _

“Good selenium? Good manganese?”

 _ **Very good,**_ Venom rumbles, drifting around him, swirling down between his legs, teasing. _ **Want to spawn, Eddie.**_

“Jeez, V. Not in front of the kids.” He's only half-joking. Because he's honestly a little weirded-out having an audience, even if the audience isn't technically sentient. He never really liked fucking while Mr. Belvedere was watching either.

 **_There are over a billion individual life forms in this_** **_water, Eddie. Bacteria, fungi, archaea. None of them have light-sensing receptors._ **

“Yeah, yeah... I know it's stupid.”

 _ **Not stupid. Just Eddie,** _Venom says fondly.

The alien cells must like the water, too. Eddie can feel them finally, moving inside, the faintest flutter down near his ribs. “Uh, V? How are these things gonna get out?” Maybe he will get to see that re-enactment of _Alien_ , after all.

Before Venom can answer, there's that weird pricking feeling in the skin over his stomach again, and then suddenly he can't sense the cells’ presence anymore. They're out, he thinks, presumably in the water.

Eddie looks down at himself, runs a hand over his chest. Still intact. “Huh. That wasn't so bad. Kind of anticlimactic, actually.”

Venom follows his hand with a smooth, slippery tendril, soft against his skin, making him shiver. _**How about now? We are finally alone again. Nothing is watching.**_

“Yeah, okay,” he breathes out hard as the tendril trails down under the water. “Now is good.” He can sense Venom spreading out around them, turning liquid. 

Eddie reaches down, brushes his fingers along the only part of the symbiote that's still solid, smooth threads anchored to his skin.

 _ **Feels so good to be inside you,** _Venom purrs.

“Show me,” he says.

Venom coaxes him to open his mind up the rest of the way, to let go of himself completely. They've practiced this a few times. Eddie does it almost instinctively now, letting his thoughts turn to white noise, letting Venom fill him up. This isn't the same as the sharing they'd done before when hunting or fucking. It's more like the dream he had about the mud—he's no longer Eddie Brock, he's Venom.

_They are heavy and full of reproductive spores, aching to release them into the water. Ready to spawn._

_They've been with organisms that were broadcast spawners before, but they never felt the need to spawn with a host. The others were just vessels to fill. Temporary. They have never known true symbiosis before. Not until they met Eddie._

_Spawning while still inside a host is new. They thought it would present challenges, but it's been easy—not so different than entangling with another Klyntar. They keep anchors embedded in the host's body, nearly as diffuse as the rest of their mass but secure, down near the host's reproductive tract. They move smoothly through the alien's tissues, the fluid-filled spaces between the cells—matter as familiar and welcoming now as the matter of another of their own kind. Their host doesn't spawn—not in the way they do—but the process is analogous to theirs: a pleasurable release of reproductive material. It's easy enough to press and manipulate the host's cells the same way they would caress a spawning partner, to flood his tissues with signaling molecules, enticing him to mate._

_Their host is relaxed and happy, receptive to their advances._

_They let their host keep his head above the water, clinging to a rock. As long as their own biomass is submerged, the reproductive cycle will be successful. Spawning takes all of their concentration, and humans need more oxygen during mating than their passive diffusion can provide. And they like the sounds Eddie makes—so close to the pain noises humans make, but so different, too. Their kind do not vocalize during mating, but the way Eddie says their name, the way he begs for more from them, makes them quiver with joy._

_A few more gentle touches in the right spots, and they induce a delicious flood of alien hormones from their host, salty and rich. A burst of shivery pleasure overtakes them, as a cascade of chemicals signals trigger the release of spores from their outer membrane. Their climax pushes their host over the edge, too._

_They keep a small tendril inside Eddie's urethra, too small for him to sense, so they can feel the gentle muscle contractions as their host ejaculates, absorb the mix of reproductive cells and fluids into their matter as if they came from one of their own kind. It feels so good—to feel Eddie around them and to be Eddie at the same time. Their host's pleasure is their pleasure. More diffuse and more visceral than their own, but just as intense. They lose themselves in the feeling. Forget what they are for a moment. Become something more than they could ever be on their own._

_Perfect._

Eddie falls back into his body, gasping and wrung out, fingers scrabbling at the smooth boulder he's draped across. And it's so good that he doesn't even care if a billion living things are watching.

 

***

 

His phone rings at some ungodly hour, like, before the sun is even up. Which, okay, technically the sun doesn't reach his window until well after ten in the morning. But still…

The ringtone playing is _Take Me to the River_ , the one by the Talking Heads because she’s not worthy of the Al Green version. Eddie groans and stuffs his head under the pillow, wishes he could go back to sleep.

It's too late, though, because Venom whips out a tentacle, swipes to answer the call, and shoves the phone into his hand. _Asshole_ , Eddie thinks. He clears his throat. “Oh, hey, Ortiz.”

“Mr. Brock, hello, ah… Sorry, did I wake you?”

She sounds like she's judging him. “Uh, no.” He sits up against the headboard, runs a hand through his hair. “Just… you know. Working.”

_**Liar.** _

_Shut up._ They're getting better at this communicating without speaking thing. "Uh, so... yeah. How can I help you?"

“Well, I... I saw your artichoke—I hesitate to call it an article—your artichoke hit piece.”

Eddie chuckles. “Oh, yeah? Sorry about that.”

“No you're not.”

“You're right. I'm not sorry. I really don't like artichokes.” And it's also payback for trying to kill him.

_**Artichokes are delicious.** _

Eddie frowns. “Wait… When did you…? You know what, never mind. Venom says they're delicious, so…”

“They _are_ delicious. I like artichokes. But what I wanted to say is... Your article is well-written, I just think some of your conclusions are wrong. You can crusade against artichokes all you want, but people are never going to stop eating them. As long as there's demand, we're going to keep growing them. I really don't see what your problem is with that. They're an important part of our livelihood down here. The climate near the coast, especially in our valley, isn't suitable for many other crops. It's too damp, not enough sun. We have weird weather. And the industry supports a lot of people year-round. And, well…" There's a long moment of silence. Eddie can hear her breathing over the phone. "Sorry,” she adds, sounding sheepish.

“I didn't know you were in the artichoke business," he says mildly. “Would've interviewed you for the piece.”

“Not me. I'm… I'm just a cop. Sam is a grower, though.”

“Sam?” But as soon as he asks he knows who that is.

“Samantha. My… my wife.”

“You don't sound too sure about that,” Eddie teases.

She laughs. “No, it's… we’ve been together a long time, but we got married just last month. It still feels strange that we can do that now.”

“You're newlyweds.” He's happy for them, he supposes. “Well, mazel tov.”

“Thanks.” There's a longish pause from the other end. “I wanted to ask, but… Are you and Venom… together?”

Eddie clears his throat before speaking. “Yeah. I guess we’re, uh, sort of, you know… together. I mean, we’re in a mutually beneficial, uh, relationship…”

 _ **Mutualism,**_ Venom offers.

“A mutualism. You know—symbiote and host. We need each other.” He's not actually sure what they are. Roommates? Star-crossed lovers? Friends with benefits? Co-dependent losers? “Is that…? Is that weird?”

“I'm not exactly in a position to decide what's weird.”

Eddie snorts. “Yeah,” he agrees. “So... you called me just to rant about artichokes, or... what?”

“Yes.” There's another, even longer pause. “I mean _no_. I didn't call you just to rant about artichokes. I… We would—I mean, all of us. _It_. Sorry! I never talk to people from the outside about this. What I'm trying to say is… _We,_ all of us, would like to invite you back.”

“Back?”

“Back to Mineral Springs. To, ah, to help us out again. With our problem.”

_Oh, that._

“To throw me back in the water, you mean? So I can be colonized by an alien fungus again? And mess up my already fucked up brain by turning psychic? But not psychic in a cool way so I can figure out the winning lottery numbers or gain vast knowledge or anything, but in a totally shitty way that will give me a killer headache that lasts for a week? And after that I get to spend a shit ton of money I don't have on extra food so all the fucking parasites squatting in my body don't get too hungry and start eating my organs instead? Is that what you mean?”

“... yes?”

Eddie sighs. “I'll have to think about it.”

_**We should do it. We help people, Eddie. That's what you said. That we could be heroes.** _

“Maybe,” he says, answering both of them.

“Just think about it,” Ortiz says. “We can compensate you for your time. And for—”

Eddie grins. “What? You're gonna pay me off with your filthy artichoke money for whoring myself out?”

Ortiz laughs. “Well… yes. But, really… You would be doing us a huge favor. And just… just think about it. _Please_.”

He sighs again, because life was so much simpler before any of this shit went down, when it was just him and Venom. “I will think about it.” _But hopefully not right now._  “I'll let you know what we decide. Goodbye, Chief.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Brock.”

“It's Eddie,” he mumbles, but she's already hung up.

He shoves the phone under his pillow and then just zones out for a while. Thinks about nothing, or tries to, until sunlight finally creeps down into the alley, perfectly highlighting that crack in the wall of the building next door. Eddie wonders if it's actually gotten worse, or if it's just the dramatic lighting.

When he wakes up again, Venom is outside of his body. They've made a small head so they can look at Eddie’s phone, tendrils tapping away at the screen. Probably googling something.

“Go make me some coffee,” Eddie mumbles.

Venom doesn't look up from the phone. **“No.”**

“Fine, you lazy bastard.”

 **“Not lazy. I just don't like coffee.”**  Venom types more, hunting and pecking with the tip of a tentacle.  **“We should go.”**

“Go where?" Eddie's still too sleepy to follow this conversation.

**“To Mineral Springs.”**

“Oh,” Eddie says. He yawns, scratches at his chest. He'd almost forgotten that phone call happened. “I don't know, V. I'm kind of enjoying having my body to myself for a while. I mean, sharing with you is fine. It's great, actually, but—”

**“We should go. It will be our third honeymoon.”**

“ _Third_ honeymoon?”

**“Yes.”**

“So the trip to Mineral Springs? That was our first honeymoon?”

**"Yes.”**

“And our trip up to the Mokelumne wilderness...?”

**“That was our second honeymoon.”**

Venom's totally serious about this, he realizes, as they often are when discussing host and symbiote things. Eddie's the oblivious one in the relationship, as usual. “Huh. That's...” He scratches at his chest again just to give his hands something to do. “I didn't, uh, really... I haven't thought about it like that.”

Venom finally looks up from the phone. **“Yes. Our trip to Mineral Springs was our first trip together after establishing our union. And the first consummation of our relationship. I thought that was obvious.”**

“Well, you know… maybe to you. I'm just a stupid human.” He stretches out on the bed, thinks about getting up and making his own coffee, for real this time. Because if they're going to have a conversation about how they're married now, he should probably be awake. “No offense, but that was a pretty shitty excuse for a honeymoon.”

**“I thought it was fun.”**

“You should use my phone to look up what _fun_ is. Because that wasn't it.”

 **“Admit it, Eddie. You had fun. You liked it, some of the time. You can't lie to me. I know everything about you. You even like it when I do this.”** And Venom head butts him back down onto the bed, and wraps him up in black goo.  **“You like it more than you like coffee.”**

“I _don't_ like it,” Eddie protests, but he can't help grinning.

**“Yes you do.”**

Venom bumps him affectionately on the forehead until Eddie shoves their face away, laughing. “C’mon. Quit it.”

He's still smiling, but Venom backs up, and just stares at him with those intense white eyes.

Eddie stares back. He can _feel_ Venom having some kind of crisis suddenly, feeling doubt about something. _Him_ , he thinks, _what happened between them in Mineral Springs_.

“What is it, V?”

When Venom speaks again, their voice is small, tentative. **“We’re okay? Aren't we, Eddie?”**

They've talked about this stuff. The way real people in real adult relationships do. He's still not sure what they are to each other. And even if they weren't sort of fucking now or whatever it is they're doing, Eddie supposes they would've eventually had a serious discussion anyway, what with the whole sharing a body and eating people thing. He can't exactly blame an alien for not understanding human concepts like consent and autonomy. Some humans still have trouble figuring that shit out.

Eddie smiles, reaches out to run his fingers along Venom’s smooth skin, feeling their relief, his own happiness mirrored back at him. Made so much better, because he can share it with someone else. “Yeah, we’re good. Actually… we're perfect.”

Because that's exactly what they are, he's decided. They're perfect.


End file.
